


Intersections In Real Time

by Ariana Deralte (ArianaDeralte), ArianaDeralte



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Drama, Gen, Luke I Am Your Father
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-11
Updated: 2009-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-04 08:47:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArianaDeralte/pseuds/Ariana%20Deralte, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArianaDeralte/pseuds/ArianaDeralte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just before Harry's eleventh birthday Severus Snape shows up on the Dursley's doorstep and changes Harry's life forever. Unfinished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> This was imported as is from ff.net.
> 
> This is an AU, taking place just before Harry's eleventh birthday. As of 12/2/03 chapters are slowly being revised and combined, with thanks to my beta reader, Alchemine:)
> 
> Disclaimer: Harry Potter's universe does not belong to me. It belongs to Rowling.

Harry finished serving out the bacon, leaving the most burnt for himself as Aunt Petunia preferred. His birthday was in a few days, but you would never know it He still lived in a cupboard under the stairs and he was still as thin and scrawny as he had always been. The Dursleys probably wouldn't even remember that he was turning eleven. Not that he would want them to remember anyway. They might do something to make it horrid, just to spite him. He sighed inaudibly and took a bite of his blackened bacon.

Over the sound of Dudley's chewing, he heard the mail slot opening and some letters hitting the doormat. The doorbell rang barely a second later.

"Get the door, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon, "and the post." Dudley pouted.

"Make him get it!" Dudley gestured at Harry with one of his sausages.

"Get the door, Harry." Normally, Harry would have protested this duty, but he was curious to see who was ringing the Dursleys' doorbell this early in the morning. He headed for the entrance hall and the door, pushing the letters out of the way with his foot. The door opened as his hand touched the knob, and he was forced to take a quick step back.

There stood a tall man, dressed in some sort of black robe. He had long, black hair and a sallow, hook-nosed face. As soon as he saw Harry, his lips curled into a sneer. Harry got a sinking feeling in his stomach. Here was another person who disliked him. The man would probably get along smashingly with the Dursleys.

"Who is it?" bellowed Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. The dark-haired man gave Harry a penetrating look.

"You're Harry, aren't you?" He sounded very annoyed. Harry nodded.

"Yes, and may I ask who you are?" asked Harry, mindful of Uncle Vernon's earlier question. The man took a step into the house and surveyed the entrance hall with disgust.

"Severus Snape, and you may tell your uncle that I am here. I will not be kept waiting like some common visitor!" There was such force in the comment that Harry involuntarily took a step back. He revised his earlier opinion. Perhaps this man would get along with no one. Knowing that the Dursleys wouldn't like to greet a visitor at the breakfast table, he led the man into the living room, then ran quickly to get Uncle Vernon.

"Well?" grunted Uncle Vernon around a piece of toast.

"He says his name is Severus Snape. You're not to keep him waiting." Immediately, Harry knew that it was the wrong thing to say. Uncle Vernon's eyes narrowed and he chucked the last of his toast at Harry, who was just able to duck in time.

"Really, Vernon. I made that toast perfect just for you and little Duddykins," said his Aunt Petunia without looking up from her magazine.

"And I suppose Mr. Potter received all your failed attempts," said a disgusted voice near the doorway. The Dursleys turned to look.

Harry was delighted by their reactions. Aunt Petunia froze, then started shrieking at Mr. Snape. She yelled at him to get away while attempting to push Dudley under the table to shield him, though from what, Harry was at a loss to say.

Uncle Vernon was a bit braver. He stood up to confront the man, though his voice quavered as he spoke to him.

"Your kind isn't welcome here. Go away!" He motioned towards the door with his beefy hand. Mr. Snape sneered at him, and Harry reflected that perhaps he had been lucky earlier to get a low-grade sneer. He was surprised Uncle Vernon wasn't melting into a puddle of goo right on the spot.

Mr. Snape drew a long, thin stick out of his pocket and held it lightly in one hand. It was pointing straight at Dudley.

"I most certainly shall, but first there is the matter of taking Mr. Potter out of your care," he said.

Uncle Vernon looked surprised. He glanced at the stick, then over at Harry, then back at the stick.

"Take him and don't bring him back!" Harry gave his uncle a disgusted look to rival Mr. Snape's. It was good to know that Uncle Vernon cared. Dudley made a whimpering sound from the other side of the table. He was really too big to fit under the table, so his bum and legs were just visible. Harry decided to ask some questions of his own before letting this stranger take him away.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Hogwarts, for now. My house hasn't been lived in for a very long time, and it will take the house elves awhile to make it habitable." Harry's eyes widened at the word 'elves'. Was this man mad? Mr. Snape sighed and looked over at the Dursleys.

"You haven't told him anything, have you?" he asked. It was Petunia who spoke up.

"We don't tolerate that rubbish here! When he came to us, we vowed to stamp it out." Mr. Snape gave her a disdainful look.

"I'm sure that worked well," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Harry had to look away so the Dursleys didn't see him grinning at the expressions on their faces. This was amusing, but he still wanted to know what they were talking about.

"Tell me what?" he asked. Mr. Snape transferred his gaze back to Harry. There was something indefinable in the depths of his black eyes. They stared at each other for a few moments and Harry wondered what the man was seeing.

"About wizards and magic and a good deal more," said Mr. Snape eventually. "But I don't have time for this rubbish." He put the emphasis on the word "rubbish," and Aunt Petunia coloured. "Gather whatever you would like to keep and we'll be going." His expression made it clear that he didn't think there was much Harry would be wanting. "Be quick about it!"

Harry didn't move. He could accept that there were things here he didn't understand, but there was one question he still had to ask.

"But why are you here for me? Why now?" He had been with the Dursleys for most of his life. Why would someone come for him now? Mr. Snape glanced over at the Dursleys, then took a few steps into the room so he was standing right in front of Harry. He bent down and spoke for Harry's ears alone.

"Because I'm your father."

            Harry froze, two conflicting emotions warring for supremacy – joy that he had a real family, and disbelief that this strange man before him could be his father. Disbelief won.

            "You're lying!" he cried, not caring what the Dursleys thought about his outburst. Mr. Snape straightened up and stared at him expressionlessly.

            "It would be better for us both if I were," he said. Was that weariness that Harry detected in his voice? He stared at the man, his thoughts whirling as he tried to fit Mr. Snape into his view of the world.

His parents were dead. They had died in a car crash when he was little, or so the Dursleys had always told him. Not that they talked about it much. They didn't like him asking questions, either.

All right, suppose his father had survived. His name should have been James Potter, not Severus Snape. And if Snape really was his father, where had he been for the past ten years? He opened his mouth to ask, but was interrupted by a loud crash.

Dudley had been unable to remain in the presence of breakfast for such a long time without actually eating it. Unfortunately, he had gotten stuck underneath the table, and had knocked it over while trying to extricate himself. The tabletop lay facing Harry with all the china and food in a messy pile on the floor in front of it. Aunt Petunia was sitting primly in her seat ignoring the incident, but Uncle Vernon was turning red. He looked ready to yell -- as soon as he could figure out whether it was Harry's fault or Mr. Snape's. Heaven forbid that Dudley ever do something wrong.

Harry glanced at Mr. Snape. He had been closer to the table and there was egg splattered across his black cloak. His face looked even paler than before, though Harry was sure that it was with anger.

Uncle Vernon came to a decision. "Now see what you've done!" he yelled at Harry.

Mr. Snape quickly turned to face Uncle Vernon.

"There is egg on my robe," he said in a quiet, yet threatening voice. The stick was being brandished again. "And while you may have missed it, I know who the culprit was." He turned ever so slightly, so that the stick was pointing towards Dudley and said some words in what sounded like Latin. Even as he said them, Aunt Petunia screamed and threw herself in front of Dudley. Uncle Vernon moved towards Mr. Snape, then froze as Aunt Petunia and Dudley hit the ground with a large thump.

Harry felt his breath catch as the table magically righted itself. Dishes and cups pushed themselves together and the food reappeared on top of them. The floor was left clean. Even the bit of egg that Harry could see on Mr. Snape's robes was gone. The wizard (that was the only word that Harry could think of to describe him) took the time to glare once more at the Dursleys, then seemed to dismiss them from his mind.

"Where is your room, Mr. Potter?" he asked. Harry pointed towards the stairs. Mr. Snape gestured for him to proceed, so Harry walked into the corridor and stopped beside his cupboard. They were far enough away from the Dursleys for him to risk a question.

"Why didn't you curse Dudley, Mr. Snape? He was the one who caused the mess." Mr. Snape gave him a scathing look, and Harry looked away.

"Yes, I noticed that," said the wizard in a dry voice when Harry met his eyes again. "I could have cursed him out of existence, but don't you think the looks of horror on their faces were priceless? Not to mention the Headmaster would disapprove if I were to turn your cousin into, say, a pig." Harry grinned.

"I doubt you'd notice the difference," he said. Mr. Snape did not smile. He just looked at Harry, his eyes unfocused, as if he were looking at something very far away.

Harry's good mood vanished. This man was claiming to be his father. Imagining that some long lost relative would come and rescue him had been one of his favourite dreams when he was younger. So why wasn't he happy?

"Why don't you show me this room of yours?" said Mr. Snape, breaking the growing silence. Harry reached for the lock that held the cupboard shut and slid it back. The door swung open with a creak, causing Mr. Snape to step closer to him so he didn't get hit. The wizard reached out and pulled the string to light the single bulb that was dangling from the ceiling inside. A spider, reacting to the light, skittered hurriedly under the bed.

"You have such wonderful accommodations. Tell me, do you eat the spiders when you're in here, or do the spiders eat you? Judging by your appearance, it's probably the latter," said Mr. Snape. His voice was dripping with sarcasm, and some other emotion Harry couldn't identify. Anger? Disgust? Shame? "Well, take what you want!"

Harry jumped, his train of thought broken, and entered the cupboard. He quickly located an old, rusted tin box in which he kept a few broken things that had meaning to him. Grabbing that, he reached over to take one of Dudley's oversized jumpers, but Mr. Snape stopped him. "Don't bother. We'll get you some new clothing. You're going to look skinny enough in clothes that fit you."

 Harry gave him an annoyed look. Did the man ever say anything nice? "Get that stupid look off your face and pay attention!" Mr. Snape said. Apparently not. "How often do you think they will come in here after you leave?" Harry shrugged.

"They'll probably use it to store Dudley's toys, or they might fumigate it since I've been contaminating it all these years." Harry knew he sounded bitter, but it was impossible to keep his voice normal when he thought of how the Dursleys treated him. Mr. Snape nodded. "Good. We'll leave a little surprise here for them, then," he said.

Harry's eyes widened in shock.

"What kind of surprise?" he asked. The wizard smiled at him for the very first time. In the light of the flickering bulb, it made him look even more sinister.

"A nasty one. What else?" He did not wait for Harry to respond, but pointed his wand (at least Harry assumed it was a wand) at a spider on one of the uneven boards of the cupboard's walls.

"_Engorgio_," he said in an even tone. The spider began to swell. Soon, too large to perch on the wall, it fell heavily to the bed, where it continued to grow. Harry took a step back, but the wizard did not lower his wand until the spider had grown so large that its legs were dangling over the side of the bed. Harry regarded hundreds of black, glittering eyes, and took another step back. He had gotten used to the spiders in the cupboard, but seeing one this large was unnerving. He jumped when a hand came down on his shoulder.

Mr. Snape looked down at him. The smile was gone from his face. "It should be able to survive at least a week in there by eating the other spiders. Plenty of time for your relatives to check in here."

"Don't you mean our relatives?" asked Harry. The man grimaced.

"I'd rather not think about that," he said, and Harry wondered if it was because of the Dursleys or because of him. He felt a sadness creep over him. He agreed with Mr. Snape. He would rather not think about it either.

            Mr. Snape led Harry out through the kitchen and into the entrance hall. "Do you want to say goodbye?" he asked, almost as an afterthought. Harry glanced into the kitchen. The Dursleys were back at breakfast, pretending that everything this morning had never happened. You would never know that they had just given up their nephew to a total stranger -- though if the Dursleys could have had it their way, you would never have known that they had a nephew at all.

Harry's eyes drifted back to Mr. Snape. At least here was someone who wanted him. Mr. Snape seemed to read the answer on his face. "Come on, then." He held the door open for Harry. It was drizzling slightly outside. Harry walked through and looked around curiously. Where was Mr. Snape's car? He turned back, and saw the man bend down and pick up one of the letters on the floor.

"I believe this is yours," said Mr. Snape. Harry's hand closed reflexively about the letter. People didn't send him letters. There must be some sort of mistake. The address on the envelope was written in green ink, and it changed as he watched.

_Mr. H. Potter_

_The Green Room_

_Hogwarts_ _Castle_

_Hogwarts Grounds_

            "Where is Hogwarts?" he wondered out loud.

            "Someplace we're never going to get to if you keep dawdling." Mr. Snape looked miserable. A drop of water rolled off his large nose. Harry remembered his earlier thought.

            "Where's your car?" he asked. Mr. Snape's lips curled into a sneer.

            "I'm a wizard, not some Muggle. We don't use cars!" Harry was taken aback, but decided to make an effort at peace.

            "Okay. Then what do wizards use for transportation? And what's a Muggle?" he asked. The wizard assumed a lecturing tone.

            "Muggles are people who can't use magic. They're usually resentful of those of us who can." He gestured at the house. "Though they take it to the extreme. You'll find that there are wizards who support the opposite view as well." His face was beginning to pale with anger. Harry wanted to ask Mr. Snape what he meant, but didn't want to interrupt now that he was getting some answers. "Transportation can be accomplished by any number of means, but today we will be using a Portkey." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a box made of some dark wood. Strange symbols were engraved upon it, and it seemed to be lit from within.

            "That's a Portkey?" he asked. Mr. Snape impatiently opened the box's lid, allowing Harry to glance within. There was a purple sock with a pattern of tiny red hearts lying inside.

            "That," said Mr. Snape, "is a Portkey." Harry gave him a questioning look. "Albus is partial to socks," Mr. Snape said in a long-suffering tone. A high-pitched scream came from the house and a very evil grin crossed Mr. Snape's face. "That would be your aunt." There was a loud crash. "And that would be your uncle. Shall we take our leave?" Harry nodded and smiled weakly at him. He was confused about the Dursleys. Sure they had treated him horribly, but he wouldn't wish that spider on anyone.

            "When you touch the Portkey it will feel like someone has hooked you about the waist, and you will end up at the destination the Portkey is set for -- in this case, Hogwarts. You would do well to plant your feet before we go," said Mr. Snape. Harry nodded in understanding and settled his feet firmly on the ground.

            "Okay. Now what?"

            "Just place your hand on the sock." Harry reached out a tentative finger to stab down on one of the hearts, just as Mr. Snape grasped the sock's toe. The world whirled around him, and suddenly they were standing on a well-trimmed lawn near a lake. Off in the distance, Harry could see a magnificent castle that looked too big and strange to be real. He swayed, his balance still upset from the Portkey, and felt a hand on his shoulder steadying him. Harry gave Mr. Snape a smile of gratitude.

            "Thanks," he said. The wizard stared at him, and abruptly Harry recognized the emotion that was written on the man's face. Pain. "What is it?" he asked, wondering if he would get an answer. Mr. Snape turned away and strode towards the castle that dominated the landscape.

            "You smile just like your mother," he said over his shoulder. Harry stood for a moment gaping at the man, then had to hurry to catch up. He was slightly out of breath when he came even with Mr. Snape at the front of the castle, but the wizard didn't even spare him a glance.

            The huge, wooden doors opened before them, and an old man in purple robes came out to greet them. He had the longest beard Harry had ever seen, and his eyes twinkled when he smiled.

            "Hello, Harry. Welcome to Hogwarts." The old man looked him over, giving him the same penetrating look that Mr. Snape seemed to have perfected. He appeared satisfied with what he saw and caught Mr. Snape's eye.

"He looks just like you, Severus," he said, his eyes twinkling again. Harry wondered what the old man was talking about. Other than their hair colours, he and Mr. Snape looked nothing alike.

            "Very funny, Albus." Mr. Snape scowled at the man. "Harry, this is Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, among other things."

            "Headmaster? Is this a school?" Harry asked. He had seen pictures of Smeltings, where Dudley was going this year, and it hadn't looked nearly as grand. Mr. Dumbledore chuckled.

            "I've never liked the word school. It implies that it is only the children who are learning and being taught," he said. Harry looked at the man perplexedly, trying to understand what the he meant. The Headmaster gave him a sympathetic look. "I'm sure you have lots of questions, Harry. If you'll follow me, we'll have some tea and see if we can't answer a few of them." Harry looked at Mr. Snape, but the wizard's face was frozen in a frown that seemed to be directed at Mr. Dumbledore. The older wizard ignored it and started walking up the staircase that took up most of the entrance hall.  

            Harry and Mr. Snape followed Mr. Dumbledore through the school. They walked up staircases that moved unexpectedly, and Harry jumped the first time he realized that the people in the portraits were animated. Just what was this place? And why was he here? Mr. Snape was a wizard, and perhaps he was his father … Harry's mind shied away from the thought. But why had he been brought to a wizard's school? What did you teach wizards anyway?

            "It's only magic," said the dark-haired wizard beside him, breaking into Harry's thoughts. "You should read your letter." Harry remembered the letter in his hand, and opened it to read the first page. He read it once as he walked, then read it again.

            "I can do magic?" he asked incredulously. Mr. Snape gave him a disdainful look.

            "You wouldn't be here if you couldn't," he said. Harry felt his heart sink.

            "So you would have just left me with the Dursleys if I couldn't do magic?" he asked in a quiet voice. Mr. Dumbledore stopped walking and turned to meet Mr. Snape's eyes. The younger wizard looked away after a moment and focused on the wall above Harry's head.

            "No," he said after a long silence, "I would have come for you regardless of your talents."


	2. Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry wasn't sure if he believed what the wizard had said, but he couldn't help the joy that surged through him at Mr. Snape's words. He expected the man to say more, but Mr. Snape turned abruptly away from him, toward Dumbledore.

Harry wasn't sure if he believed what the wizard had said, but he couldn't help the joy that surged through him at Mr. Snape's words. He expected the man to say more, but Mr. Snape turned abruptly away from him, toward Dumbledore.

"Where are we going, Albus?" he asked.

            "That delightful tea room on the second floor. It's not much farther." Mr. Dumbledore smiled once at Harry, then began walking again. Harry decided that he liked this kind old man.

Nothing more was said as they headed towards the room. More and more, Harry found himself lagging behind. One part of him wanted answers. The other part wished that this entire day had never happened.

            Dumbledore stopped at a door to their right and gestured politely for Mr. Snape and Harry to precede him. When he entered, Harry found Mr. Snape staring, as if mesmerized, at a painting of a serpent wound about a tree within a splendid garden. The snake uncurled itself from the tree and slid down to swallow one of the many fruits that littered the ground.

            "Why don't you take a seat?" suggested Dumbledore softly. Harry pulled his eyes away from the painting and tentatively took one of the tall-backed chairs that graced the centre of the room. Despite the dark velvet cushioning, he had to squirm around to find a comfortable position. Once he was seated, Dumbledore settled into the chair to his right, while Mr. Snape took the remaining chair with a scowl on his face.

            "And now for the tea," said Dumbledore. He gestured with his wand.

Harry blinked and suddenly there was a strange creature before them. It placed a fully laden tray on the small table that sat between their chairs. Harry stared at the squat creature's huge eyes and floppy ears. It made as if to pour their tea, but Dumbledore stopped it.

            "That will be all, Biffy. Thank you," said Dumbledore. The creature disappeared with a nod and a slight pop.

            "_That_ was a house-elf," said Mr. Snape with a satisfied smirk.

Dumbledore poured tea for them all, and Harry took a cup, though all he did was hold it.

            "Where to begin?" mused Dumbledore. He glanced at Mr. Snape, who was staring rather fixedly into his tea. "Severus…" The wizard looked up and met Dumbledore's eyes before focusing on Harry.

            "Your mother and I met here at Hogwarts. Our relationship was…difficult, though not because of us," said Mr. Snape. Harry could have sworn that he heard Dumbledore cough at that point. "But because of the way the world was."

A thought occurred to Harry. The Dursleys had always said his parents were killed in a car crash, but after a mere glimpse of this magical world, Harry knew that couldn't be true. These wizards had to be able to stop something as simple as a car crash. Mr. Snape had said they didn't even _use_ cars. So what had killed them – or at least his mother – and how had he survived?

            "Does this have to do with my scar?" he asked.

The dark-haired wizard froze. "Yes," he said, his smooth voice sounding unusually hoarse. That look of pain was on his face again.

            "Perhaps I should continue?" asked Dumbledore mildly. "You see Harry, nearly twenty years ago a dark wizard, Voldemort, began his rise to power. He recruited followers who shared his hatred of Muggles and Muggle-borns."

            "Muggle-borns?" questioned Harry.

            "Magical children born to Muggle parents," said Mr. Snape impatiently. "Hence, Muggle. Born."

            "But what does Voldemort have to do with me?" asked Harry, ignoring his so-called father. He was beginning to suspect that Mr. Snape couldn't survive without insulting someone every few minutes. The man didn't like being ignored, however, and he sneered at Harry.

            "He has everything to do with you. You destroyed him!" Harry's hand went to his scar. He traced the lightening bolt with his finger. He knew he had gotten it in the "accident" that had killed his parents. Green light. All he could remember was green light.

            "I don't understand," he said. Dumbledore gave him a sympathetic look, then shot a stern glance at Mr. Snape.

            "Your father was spying on Voldemort at my request. In order to carry on his relationship with your mother without endangering her, and later you, we worked out a rather unusual arrangement," said the older wizard. "Lily Evans married James Potter, but in reality, she married your father, who was using Polyjuice potion to impersonate James." Harry's head was spinning.

"Polyjuice is a potion that allows someone to transform themselves into someone else for a certain amount of time," said Mr. Snape before Harry could ask. He sounded sad.

            "Yes," said Dumbledore, picking up the narrative. "James was the perfect choice. He had dated Lily earlier in his Hogwart's career and due to the…" Dumbledore paused.  "…dislike between him and your father, no one would have suspected Lily of associating with Severus after the marriage. James himself spent most of his time off on missions for me, and Severus was free to spend his time off-duty time with your mother. I believe you got very good at impersonating James, didn't you, Severus?"

Mr. Snape scowled. "Too good," was all he said.

Dumbledore took a long sip of his tea. "When you were born, Harry, we were all a bit shocked," he said. "Lily and Severus had been using anti-conception charms, and, well…"

            "You looked like Potter," said Mr. Snape with disgust. "And the older you grew, the more you looked like him."

            "A Paternity Potion determined right away that Severus was your father, but didn't explain your appearance. Eventually we decided that the anti-conception charms had reacted badly with the remnants of Polyjuice potion in your father's system." Harry thought about the logistics of this and was glad he wasn't prone to blushing. He knew about sex from school and overheard conversations between Dudley and Piers, but it didn't mean he wanted to picture the sour-faced wizard in front of him and his mother…

Harry took a large gulp of his now lukewarm tea. His stomach rumbled quietly at him. Remembering that he had never finished breakfast, he concentrated on devouring a biscuit from the tray in front of him. He could feel anger building up inside of him, along with hurt and despair.

So they hadn't wanted him, had they? He glanced at his father. So _he_ hadn't wanted him…

            "Lily was so happy when you were born," said Dumbledore. Harry's head snapped up. How had Dumbledore known what he was thinking? "And Severus was happy as well, despite his misgivings. He was so worried about keeping you both safe. He even agreed to have the Fidelius Charm performed, knowing that it would require James to stay with you and your mother while he was forced to stay away."

            "Voldemort was getting suspicious," said the younger wizard softly. He appeared to be lost in his own memories.

            "Then, ten years ago, on Hallowe'en night, they were betrayed. Voldemort attacked Godric's Hollow, where you lived, and killed James and Lily. But when he came to you." Dumbledore paused, as if he was choosing his words carefully. "His curse went awry. You gained that scar, and Voldemort hasn't been seen since."

Harry put down his now-empty cup of tea.

            "But that doesn't explain why I spent ten years with the Dursleys," he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. This was too much. He didn't want to deal with this any more.

            "You weren't safe with me," said Snape. The wizard laughed rather harshly. "Who would believe that James and Lily Potter's son belonged to me? The Boy Who Lived, the son of a convicted Death Eater. Wouldn't that have made an interesting headline?"

            "We deemed it safer to leave you with your relatives," said Dumbledore after it was clear that Snape was not going to continue. "There has been a powerful spell on you to protect you since that night. Unfortunately, it only lasts for ten years – it would have worn off in a few months. We will be renewing the spell on Hallowe'en, but this time, we will bind it to the blood you and your father share. Until then, you should be safe at Hogwarts."

Harry settled back in his chair, staring at the painting of the serpent. It reminded him of the boa constrictor he had let loose from the zoo many months ago. He wondered what it would be like to have that freedom.

*****

            Harry stood in the corridor outside the tea room with his father beside him. The wizard looked as lost as Harry felt. Dumbledore had suggested that Snape show him the school before disappearing with a speed Harry would never have suspected possible for a wizard his age. Snape stared after the Headmaster for a long moment, then turned to Harry.

            "Come on," he snapped.

Harry followed, his mind still reeling from the revelations over tea. They started to climb a long staircase made of wood. It seemed as good a time as any to say the one word he wanted to say.

            "Father?" he said softly. Snape whirled around, his eyes flaring with emotion.

            "Don't call me that!" he hissed.

Shocked by the response, Harry turned his head away so Snape wouldn't see the hurt on his face. He heard Snape sigh.

"Look at me!" the man said in a commanding tone. Harry did as he was told.

            "You can't call me that, Harry," said Snape in a tired voice. "Only Dumbledore, you, and I know about our relationship, and that's the way it will remain. When you enter the school, it will be as Harry Potter, not Snape." 

            "I'm sorry," said Harry. Snape didn't seem to hear him.

Harry could have sworn a few minutes ago that he wasn't even sure he wanted to call this man Father. But now that the privilege had been taken away, it was all he wanted to do. "Perhaps," he started slowly, watching the eyes of the man before him. "I could call you Father in private?"

            "And what happens when you slip?" Snape sounded serious, despite the implied insult.

            "I won't slip," said Harry defiantly. He was treated to another of those evaluating stares.

            "All right," said Snape finally. "In private. Now, what did you want?"

            "Want?" Harry's mind was blank. Snape made an impatient gesture.

            "When you started all this "Father" business."

            "Oh." Harry scrambled for something to say. Had he even had a question? "I was wondering why you live here if you have a house?" he asked eventually, trying to ignore the growing expression of annoyance on his father's face for making him wait.

            "I'm a professor here," said Snape. He didn't sound very happy about it. Harry privately agreed. There were many things that Severus Snape struck him as, but a teacher wasn't one of them.

            "That's good," said Harry lamely. "What do you teach?"

            "Potions."

            "What's that?" Harry asked, hoping it was a safe subject. Surprisingly enough, it was. Snape went on at length about the intricacies of potions brewing as they walked, occasionally stopping to discuss a relevant part of Hogwarts.

Harry decided that the actual brewing of potions sounded boring, but he was intrigued by the fantastic things they could do when finished. He was also forced to revise his opinion about Snape as a teacher. The man might not have many people skills, but he certainly knew what he was talking about. Harry just hoped that Snape didn't expect him to remember it all.

            They had a quick lunch in the kitchen while Harry marvelled at the sheer number of house-elves in Hogwarts. Snape then showed him the library, giving him a copy of a book entitled _Hogwarts: A History _– mostly, Harry suspected, so that he would stop asking annoying questions about the school. He was loaded down with a few other books as well, along with an admonition to return them before school started so Madam Pince wouldn't kill them both.

            They entered the Great Hall after that, and Harry found he couldn't take his eyes off the ceiling above. It showed an almost painfully blue sky, dotted with clumps of white clouds. The previous rain had drifted away.

Harry placed the books on one of the four long tables and turned eagerly to Snape.

            "Can we go outside?" he asked. Many long years of hiding outside from Dudley and his gang had taught him to appreciate every clear day. Snape scowled at the request, but headed for the doors anyway.

"I suppose you've never seen a Quidditch pitch before," he said in a casual tone as he held the main door open for Harry. After a day spent in Harry's company, Snape seemed more comfortable with him, though there were still occasions where Snape got that look of pain on his face or became, well, snappish.

"Hullo, Harry," said a friendly, if deep, voice. A giant of a man with a great busy beard stood at the foot of the main steps. He had black eyes like Snape's, only his glittered with a happiness Harry had never seen in Snape's eyes.

The giant, apparently overcome with emotion, reached out and pulled Harry into a massive hug. "Haven't seen yeh since yeh were a baby!"

Harry relaxed into the big man's embrace. He couldn't remember ever being hugged before.

He was pushed out to arms length and looked up and down. "Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mum's eyes." Harry felt himself stiffen. He looked anywhere but at the man in front of him.

"If you're through smothering him, Hagrid," said Snape from behind him. "I was going to show him the grounds." His voice was cutting, and Harry knew that Snape's eyes were fixing Hagrid in a glare. The giant didn't seem to notice it, however.

"Yeh have ter let me show him the grounds, Professor!" The giant surprised Harry by winking at him. He waited anxiously for his father's answer.

"Of course, Hagrid. After all you do know them best," said Snape in a polite, yet somehow mocking voice. Harry wanted to gape at his father, to ask him why he had given in so easily, but when he turned around, the door was already slamming shut. He turned back to Hagrid. What had he done to make Snape abandon him?

Hagrid grinned at him and stuck out a huge hand. "Name's Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys and Grounds here at Hogwarts, but yeh can call me Hagrid. Everyone does, even Professor Snape." The giant chuckled at that, then turned away from him. "Here, Fang!" he bellowed. A huge black dog bounded across the grass toward them to slobber all over Hagrid's knees. They set off towards the lake, Hagrid talking as they went.

Harry spent the rest of the afternoon with Hagrid and Fang. He even had something of a good time. It was hard to stay depressed around Hagrid and the man was eager to show Harry everything. He took him some distance into the Forbidden Forest to show him a nest of strange birds with two heads that he called Biviums.

            Hagrid led him back into the Great Hall as dusk fell. Harry was surprised to find his father and Dumbledore seated at the High Table. Dumbledore invited Hagrid to join them for supper and magically enlarged a chair for him.

Harry sat down reluctantly next to Snape. He didn't even blink when the food magically appeared on their plates. He was too busy watching his father out of the corner of his eye and wondering why the man had gotten rid of him this afternoon. There was no way he could ask while Hagrid was present, however, so he endured the cheerful small talk between Professor Dumbledore and Hagrid and tried to concentrate on the food.

Finally, the meal was over, and Snape and Harry headed for one of the many doors leading out of the Great Hall. He could hear Hagrid protesting Harry's accommodations in what the giant no doubt thought was a whisper.

Snape led him down many dark stairwells, and Harry realized they were entering the one part of the castle he had yet to be shown – the dungeons. There was little light in the corridors. Perhaps that explained why Snape's skin was so pale. He was lost in thought, trying to think of a way to ask his question about this afternoon without being snapped at, when Snape stopped at a dark mahogany door.

"This is your room," he said, and pushed the door open.

Green was the first impression Harry received. It was his second impression as well. Everything in the room that could be decorated was in various shades of deep green.

"It's very green," said Harry, stepping past his father and into the room. The room was actually tasteful. It was just so green…

"Yes, one has to wonder why they called it the Green Room," said Snape. He made to leave and Harry knew he had to ask his question now.

"Father?"

Snape pulled up short, and Harry could see his shoulders bunching up under his robe.

"Why did you let Hagrid take me outside today?" he asked.

"Did you have a good time?" asked Snape.

"Yes, but-"

Snape nodded his head forcefully. "Then there is your answer." He left in a swirl of black robes, the door clicking shut behind him.

Harry stared after him for a moment, trying to understand, then sighed and got ready for bed. Pyjamas (green) were laid out for him, and he found the toilet through one of the other doors. His books from earlier were on a chair near the door, though he ignored them for now.

            Harry settled into the bed. The soft blankets and mattress felt strange to him after so many years in the cupboard. He stared up at the ceiling for awhile, trying to think.

His parents' murder – or, rather, one of his parents being murdered. Groundskeepers. Voldemort. Paternity Potions. Spies. Fidelius Charms. Magic and Hogwarts. And, of course, a certain dark-haired wizard. Life was so confusing, and Snape was the most confusing thing of all.

Eventually, he drifted off to sleep. He dreamt that his father was in the room. Not the half-formed picture he had imagined for years, but the sneering wizard he had met today. Snape was staring down at him with those inscrutable black eyes. Harry wanted to talk to him, wanted to find out why there was so much sadness in his face. He wanted to know if he was the cause of that sadness. 

He tried to speak, but the Snape in his dream jerked back, fading away into the darkness. Everything was black then. Harry waited for a long time and noticed that it was getting brighter, as if dawn were coming. But this was not the brightness of the sun, unless the sun shone green. The green light grew brighter, so bright he threw his hands up to shield his eyes. His scar burned. Mocking laughter surrounded him, echoing through his mind.

Harry sat up with a shudder and found his hands pressed tightly over his scar. He watched the door to his room swing shut with a small click, and shivered as his sweat-soaked body reacted to the cool air. Was he still dreaming? Had that even been a dream? He lay back down, pulling the covers close and turning on to his side. A few breaths later, he was asleep. If he had any more dreams, he couldn't remember them in the morning.

*****

A/N: Thanks to all my lovely reviewers:)


	3. A Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to my beta reader, Alchemine. This story is currently being revised. Longer chapters have been checked over and beta-read. Shorter ones have not. Thanks to all my reviewers:)

A/N: Thanks to my beta reader, Alchemine. This story is currently being revised. Longer chapters have been checked over and beta-read. Shorter ones have not. Thanks to all my reviewers:)

*****

            Harry spent the next several days wandering through Hogwarts. Snape had shrunk some of his own clothes for Harry to wear until they could buy some "proper robes," as he had referred to them. Except for that brief conversation about clothing, Snape largely ignored him, and Harry ended up talking more with Dumbledore than he did with his own father. He was alone most of the time unless he wanted to join Hagrid outside.

Exploring the castle had grown mundane after the first few days, though he had found some interesting secret passages. Lately, he had taken to looking for comfortable places where he could read about this strange world which he was now part of.

            Nearly a week after his instalment at Hogwarts, he dressed in a black jumper, trousers and robe (he thought he looked as if he were going to a funeral, but Snape had provided him with no other colour), grabbed one of the books he had borrowed, and headed up to the Great Hall for breakfast.

            Breakfast with Dumbledore was always interesting to say the least. Two days before, he had regaled Harry with a rousing (and Harry suspected, completely fictional) account of Uric the Oddball's life. The day after that, he had sung an entire opera, encouraging both Harry and Snape to join in at the good parts. It had taken all Harry's self-control not to burst out laughing at the scowl on his father's face. He was looking forward to the Headmaster's choice of conversation this morning.

            Dumbledore was there when he approached the table. Harry was used to waking up early at the Dursleys', but no matter how early he awoke, Dumbledore always arrived at the table before him. Snape on the other hand was almost always late - something for which the Headmaster teased him mercilessly.

            "Long night, Severus?" asked Dumbledore solicitously when the wizard appeared. "Did you sleep well?"

            Snape snarled rather incoherently at him and stalked over to his seat. Harry kept silent. The last time he had wished his father good morning, he had nearly had his head snapped off. Snape was definitely not a morning person. Dumbledore didn't seem to be put off though.

            "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" he said, glancing up at the enchanted ceiling.

Harry followed his gaze and saw the clouds rushing at a fantastic speed across a light blue sky. Maybe this would be a good day to join Hagrid outside. Dumbledore glanced at him, then past him at his father. "It's a special day don't you think, Harry?"

            Harry was confused. Special? Just what was Dumbledore going on about?

Snape gave Dumbledore a look that Harry couldn't interpret. Dumbledore smiled broadly at Snape, then turned his gaze on Harry.

            "I think this is the perfect day for you to get your supplies, Harry, and I know that Professor Snape has been eagerly awaiting your acquisition of a wand," said Dumbledore.

Harry looked over at his father. His usual sneer was in place. It was hard for Harry to see the enthusiasm Dumbledore was talking about. Nevertheless, Harry wasn't about to turn down a chance to get out of the castle.

            "Where will we be going?" he asked.

            "Diagon Alley," said Dumbledore lightly. "Hagrid is picking up something for me from Gringotts' and will be travelling with you."

            "If Hagrid is going than I don't see why-" began Snape beside him.

Harry felt himself stiffen.

            "Severus," said Dumbledore, his tone no longer jovial. "Hagrid is running an errand for _me_, and you mentioned that you had some potions ingredients you wanted to pick up."

            "And you think that some people won't find it odd to see me shepherding the Boy-Who-Lived around Diagon Alley?" Snape asked.

Harry could see that his father's eyes smouldering with anger. He shrunk deeper into his seat and wished that the argument were over.

            "It's okay," he said in the moment of silence, even though he knew it wasn't. "I'll go with Hagrid, and we'll even pick up your potions ingredients for you, Mr. Snape." Both of them were looking at him now, but Harry refused to return either of their gazes. Finally, Snape made a sound of disgust.

            "I'll be damned if I let you fetch those ingredients by yourself," he said vehemently.

            "Hagrid has a Portkey I gave him, though you'll be using the Floo network to get back," said Dumbledore, as if there had never been any objections. "You might want to consider having dinner at the Leaky Cauldron. You'll need your letter, Harry."

            Harry ran down to his room to get the letter, and, at his father's suggestion, to put on a heavier robe. It was only when he was staring at the address on the letter's envelope that he realised what Dumbledore had meant about it being a special day.

Today was his eleventh birthday.

*****

            Harry didn't stumble from using the Portkey this time. Instead, he blinked and looked around the small courtyard where the three of them had appeared. The buildings on either side of them looked as if they had been there for centuries, but Harry doubted that any buildings in the sixteenth century had had "Designated Portkey Destination: No Lingering" signs decorating their sides.

Hagrid stuffed the hot water bottle that had served as their Portkey into one of his many pockets.

            "Come on," said Snape impatiently.

Hagrid grunted and stuffed the hot water bottle that had served as their Portkey into one of his many pockets before heading for the open side of the courtyard, where Harry could see crowds of people in robes passing by. He stood there for a moment longer, frowning in thought. Dumbledore had remembered his birthday, but did his father? Snape hadn't reacted when the Headmaster had dropped his hint. He hadn't even wanted to come.

Hagrid turned around, and called to him in a deep voice. "Are yeh coming, Harry?"

He nodded and followed them out into the noisy crowd, trying not to gape at all the fascinating things going on around him. A wizard nearby was blowing triangular smoke rings while complaining in a deep voice about the price of adder stone going up, and Harry narrowly avoided being trampled on by a veritable horde of young wizards and witches being watched over by a frazzled looking witch. He kept close to Hagrid and Snape after that. It would have been slow going due to the crowd, but somehow people kept moving out of the way once they got a glimpse of Hagrid's bulk and the look in Snape's eyes.

            He couldn't stop staring at all the things around him, and was therefore surprised when they arrived at a tall white marble building that had a very official look about it. There was a strange creature in a uniform standing guard outside. Harry tentatively identified it as a goblin.

Snape stopped at the foot of the marble steps and turned to shout at Hagrid over the noise of the crowds. Harry could just barely hear what was being said.

            "I need to get some ingredients in Knockturn Alley." Snape gestured towards an opening across from them that showed a partial view of a darker and less crowded alley. "Why don't you take him to get his money? Here's the key. Don't lose it in that coat of yours. I'll meet you outside."

He didn't wait for Hagrid's answer, but handed him the key, then cut across the crowd in the direction of the darkened alleyway. Harry watched him go, trying to tell himself it didn't matter that Snape had abandoned him at the first chance. "He really doesn't remember," he muttered. Hagrid looked down at him, and he realized that he had been speaking too loud.

            "I didn't know yeh cared what Professor Snape thought of yeh," said the groundskeeper, pulling him further up the steps where it was quieter. Harry wished he didn't care, but he didn't want to talk about it.

            "Did you know it's my birthday today, Hagrid?"

            "'Course I know," the giant said. "Was going teh surprise yeh with a cake and a present when we got back." Hagrid seemed to realize what he had just said. "Shouldn'ta said that," he muttered.

Harry smiled at him. "It's okay, Hagrid. I'll act surprised."

The giant returned his smile, then turned and pushed open the heavy bronze doors. They passed through a second set of silver doors covered in writing that Harry didn't have time to read and entered something that resembled an old-fashioned bank – if a bank were run by strange, deformed creatures who sorted wheelbarrows full of rubies and gold instead of money.

            "They must have a lot of trouble with thieves," said Harry.

Hagrid snorted in disbelief.

            "Not with goblins running it. Yeh never want to cross a goblin." Hagrid ignored the pair of goblins that bowed to them when they entered and headed towards one of the counters. There, he proudly explained that he was here to collect Harry's money and carry out a special mission for Dumbledore. Harry was curious as to what the special mission was, but Hagrid refused to tell him. The goblin behind the counter handed Harry's key to another, darker-skinned goblin, and told Harry to follow him. Hagrid made to come as well.

            "I'm sorry, sir," said the first goblin. "Only authorized members of the bank or Mr. Potter's family are allowed to view the contents of his vault. I'll have Griphook take you to vault seven hundred and thirteen. Griphook!"

            "But he hasn't got any relatives!" said Hagrid angrily. He paused. "Well, none that aren't Muggles." The goblin pursed its lips.

            "These are the rules of the bank, Mr. Hagrid. If you'd care to question them, I can get my manager-" He reached for a large switch on the side of the counter.

            "Yeh don' have ter do that," said Hagrid hastily. He turned to Harry, and handed him a sack from one of his pockets. "Make sure yeh get a good supply o' the Galleons." He saw the look of confusion on Harry's face. "The gold ones. 'Bout thirty should do it. An' throw in some Sickles an' Knuts as well. The silver an' bronze ones. Yeh'll want spending money."

Griphook was gesturing for Harry impatiently. He had to go. But he felt uneasy as he watched Hagrid being led off. These goblins didn't really seem safe.

            "If you'll come with me, sir," said the dark-skinned goblin at his side. Harry followed him through one of the many doors lining the sides of the hall.

            "What's your name?" asked Harry for lack of something better to say. It was much darker in this passageway and there was a set of railroad tracks on the floor. The goblin whistled before answering him.

            "Snagwell," it said. Harry watched in amazement as a cart came hurtling up the tracks to stop in front of them. They both got into the cart, which immediately began flying down the track, dipping so quickly that he had to grab its sides.

He wondered if this was what it was like to be on the rollercoasters he had once seen from afar when the Dursleys went to the shore. They had locked Harry in their hotel room for the holiday, but he had been able to open the window and see the shore with all its amusements.

            "How does the cart know where it's going?" he asked Snagwell. The goblin was reading a letter while it slouched against one of the cart's sides.

            "It's tuned to the key," said Snagwell, not even looking up from his letter.

Harry let him be after that and occupied himself with trying to count the number of tunnels they passed. He gave up after he reached one hundred. Eventually, the cart went down one more steep incline and into a sharp turn before stopping gently in front of a large vault door.

They got out. Snagwell unlocked the door and some strange smoke billowed forth. After it cleared, Harry found himself staring at piles of money. Scattered throughout the gold, silver and bronze were forbidding-looking chests and odd artefacts that Harry wanted to scoop up and examine. His attention was drawn, however, to a gold filigreed plate on the opposite wall. It read:

       _Snape Family Vault_

_~ 377 AD ~_

Now Harry knew why Hagrid hadn't been allowed to come with him. He busied himself with pushing some Galleons, Knuts and Sickles into his sack until he thought he had enough. Snagwell folded up his letter and took the sack from him. The vault was sealed again, and they were on their way.

The cart seemed to be taking them a different way this time. Harry was enthralled as they passed a beautiful underground lake and leant out of the cart in an attempt to keep it in sight as the track led them into a deep, echoing cavern.

Suddenly, there was a large crash, and he was launched into the air. Panicking, he flung his hands out in the hopes of catching something to hold on to. His hand grasped the edge of the cart, and he winced as his wrist was wrenched painfully. Someone gave a muffled shout above him, but Harry was more concerned with the dark abyss that extended below his dangling legs.

He reached up and grabbed the cart with his other hand, attempting to pull himself to safety.

"Snagwell!" he yelled. A hand reached out and clasped his injured wrist, and for a second Harry thought he was being rescued. Then he screamed. His forehead felt like it was on fire, and the hand was not helping him up, but attempting to push him off the cart. Smoke rose from around his wrist. Another scream joined his. What was happening? The pain from his scar was becoming overwhelming.

He could hear a large crash, and a shout that echoed throughout the cavern. Harry let go of the cart with his injured hand, but managed to hang on to the edge with his other hand. There was a flash of colour above him, and more shouting. This time he could make out some of the words.

"Don' let him get away!" bellowed a familiar deep voice.

"Hagrid!" he called, knowing he couldn't hold on much longer. There was a long pause, and a strange rushing noise. Then Hagrid's face appeared above the edge of the cart. He caught Harry's arm, pulled him up with hardly a pause and looked him over with concern.

"Yeh alright, Harry?" he asked. Harry opened his mouth to tell him about his wrist and his scar, but stopped when he saw Snagwell. The goblin was lying limply in the corner of the cart, his limbs twisted at an odd angle. The letter he had been reading hung out of one of his pockets. A growing stain was spreading across the paper.

Harry could not fight the feeling of horror that came over him. He pressed his hand to his scar.

"What happened, Hagrid?" he asked softly, unable to tear his eyes away from Snagwell.

It was Griphook who answered. He was standing in another cart that was pushed up against the back of Harry's. There was no sign of the cart that had crashed into them before.

"A thief," said the goblin in a disgusted voice. "He will be caught and punished." The goblin sounded positively gleeful about this prospect.

"His cart ran into yours. Yeh were lucky we were coming back this way," said Hagrid. "Coward wouldn't stay an' fight. He took the cart an'escaped." The giant moved to block his view of Snagwell.

Harry shuddered and looked up at Hagrid. "And Snagwell?"

"Executed his duty according to Gringotts' charter," said Griphook.

Hagrid shook his head sadly.

"Come on Harry," he said. "Let's get yeh up into the sun again."

*****

            Harry hurried down the steps, anxious to get away from the uproar that was taking place inside Gringotts. He could still hear Hagrid bellowing through the main doors. The goblins had wanted him to stay for questioning, but Hagrid had insisted that he leave and find Professor Snape.

            Harry craned his neck above the crowds, looking for his father's distinctive black robes and hair. Unfortunately for him, there seemed to be a large number of people in black robes. None were the person he was looking for, though he did see someone who could have been Snape's double if he were only three feet taller…

            "What happened?" said a voice near him.

He jumped.

Snape was standing beside him looking very annoyed.

            "What?" asked Harry. His mind had not actually registered what his father had said.

Snape gestured impatiently at the bank. "Gringotts is in an uproar, and you're cradling your wrist."

Harry followed Snape's gaze to his hands and saw that he had been unconsciously holding his injured wrist. He forced himself to move his hands so that they hung at his sides, though he had to bite his lip against the pain. His pain was almost forgotten though, when he looked at his father's face. Was that worry he saw?

Snape picked up Harry's forgotten sack of Galleons and shrunk it to a more manageable size.

            "You can tell me about this while I treat your wrist. Follow me," said Snape. He strode off at such a speed that Harry had to run to keep up, despite the crowds.

They entered a small shop sandwiched between two larger ones. It had a sign saying _Ingrédients__ Irrégulière– Anything on Request_.

Harry gazed in wonder and a bit of disgust at the sheer number of strangely shaped jars and casks lining the walls. They were filled with some very odd looking things. Strange herbs and shrivelled objects that looked like dried liver hung from the ceiling. A white-haired old witch sat behind a counter writing in some type of ledger with a huge blue quill. As they entered, she looked up and frowned at his father.

"I haven't got those dragon tears you wanted, Severus, so there's no use coming in here to badger me." Her look had become very stern.

"I need the use of your back room for a moment, Eliza, and a Healing Potion if you have any in stock. If not, some camomile and scabious will do," said Snape, ignoring her disapproval. Her look changed to surprise at his request.

"Who's injured?" she asked.

"Mr. Potter got himself in some trouble. The room, Eliza, or I'll go elsewhere," he said impatiently.

Eliza's eyes went immediately to Harry's forehead when she heard his name. Harry felt very self-conscious under her gaze.

"Eliza!" barked Snape.

"All right. All right. No need to be snappish about it." She bustled into the back room.

"She makes that pun every time I come here," complained Snape in a sour voice.

"That's because I love seeing that tortured look on your face, dear," she called from the back room.

Snape just scowled. The old witch came out of the room again and winked at Harry.

"The room's all yours. I left some Healing Potion on the counter," she said.

Snape nodded curtly to her, and swept past her into the room with Harry following.

The back room was full of even more potion ingredients. Along one wall was a counter with ingredients in differing states of preparation.

"Sit down," ordered Snape, closing the door behind him and locking it with his wand. Harry took a seat on the only stool in the room. He felt tired all of a sudden.

"Now tell me everything that happened," demanded his father after muttering another spell around the door.

Harry took a deep breath and told him everything in one big rush. The family vault, his scar, Snagwell just lying there…He was surprised to find himself blinking away tears by the end. He told himself that it hadn't been that bad, and he really should stop, but his eyes wouldn't listen. Angrily, he wiped away an escaping tear and stared at the dirty floor.

Snape was strangely quiet. Was he angry?

There was a tentative touch on his arm, and Harry kept his eyes on the floor as his injured wrist was pulled away from his body to be held in surprisingly gentle hands. There was the smell of herbs, and a soothing feeling as the Healing Potion was skilfully applied to his wrist.

"Head up," said Snape. Harry slowly raised his head and looked at his father. Snape regarded him with a neutral expression, then dabbed some of the potion on a cloth in his hand. One hand came up to tilt Harry's face towards him. He used the cloth to trace the outline of Harry's scar. It tingled, but Harry remained very still. Snape reversed the cloth then, and ran it lightly under Harry's eyes, catching the last of his tears. The smell of the herbs was nearly overwhelming.

Snape took a step back to observe his handiwork.

"Do you feel better now?" he asked in what almost sounded like concern. Harry nodded slowly. He did feel better.

"Father?" he asked, as Snape turned away to place the potion and cloth back on the counter. "Why did my scar hurt like that?"

Snape looked grim as he turned away from the counter.

"I have a few ideas, but I need to talk to Dumbledore before I confirm them."

"Was it Voldemort?" Harry asked. Snape ignored the question.

"We need to find Hagrid. Move your wrist for me," he said. Harry obliged. His wrist didn't even twinge.

Snape nodded to himself and unlocked the door. Eliza stood outside of it, not even trying to hide the fact that she had been listening.

"Hear anything interesting?" asked Snape, his voice tight with anger.

"You know that door is too thick to hear anything through Severus," she said in a tone that made Harry picture old Mrs. Figg, his former babysitter.

Snape snorted.

"More like my charm against eavesdropping was too strong for you to break through. Really, Eliza, I expected better of you," he said, though he didn't sound like he had expected anything less.

Eliza shrugged, and dropped her poor elderly witch act.

"Can't blame an old Slytherin for trying, Severus. Have a good time with Mr. Potter." She turned to Harry, and spoke in a confidential tone that nonetheless carried throughout the tiny room. "If you ever need any blackmail on him, dear, you just let me know." She winked at him then, and Harry was left wondering if she was serious.

Snape glared at her, then held the door open for Harry to go through.


	4. Fallout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to my reviewers and to my beta, Alchemine:)

A/N: Thanks to my reviewers and to my beta, Alchemine:)

*****

They found Hagrid deep into a huge pint at a pub called the Leaky Cauldron. It was dark and smoky inside, and Harry once again had the impression that he had stepped back in time a few centuries.

Snape hurried over to Hagrid to have a sharp word with him, leaving Harry to stand near the door. He was looking around with interest at the various hazy pictures on the walls when a voice interrupted his perusal.

"Bless me! It's Harry Potter!"

All the conversations except for Hagrid and Snape's stopped. A tall, stout witch seized Harry's hand, and he was glad his wrist had just been healed, because she was pumping it hard enough to sprain it again as she told him what an honour it was to meet him.

Harry thanked her, but when she let go, another witch took her place, followed by a wizard. A third witch in dusty pink robes was reaching for his hand when Snape stepped in front of him.

"Enough of this!" he said in disgust. "I haven't got all day to stand here while you goggle over him."

Frowns of disapproval were turned upon him, but Snape ignored them. He took Harry's hand, and pulled him out the back of the pub, angrily tapping out the proper pattern on the back wall to let them back into Diagon Alley. Angry murmurs followed them out the open door.

"Am I that famous?" asked Harry. The idea that people recognized him on sight like that, and even wanted to shake his hand, was astonishing. While he did recall a few strange people doing just that when he was younger, it certainly wasn't a common occurrence. The Dursleys had ignored him. Even Snape ignored him…

"Fame isn't everything, Harry. The sooner you learn that, the better off you'll be. The press will be proclaiming you the saviour of the world one moment, then condemning you to Azkaban in the next." Snape sounded very bitter. The bricks folded up before them to reveal Diagon Alley. "Come on."

"What's Azkaban?" Harry asked as they walked.

"A wizarding prison. Do you have your letter?"

Harry nodded and pulled it out of his pocket. Snape glanced at it, then headed for the proper shop.

They wandered through the alley, stopping occasionally to pick up the supplies he needed for Hogwarts. Harry was happy to get his own robes, but Snape was too impatient to let him stop to look at many of the strange things in the shops. A shining broom in a place called Quality Quidditch Supplies caught his eye in particular. Even if he only had a vague idea what Quidditch was, he could tell by the way it glowed that it was a special broom, and the boys clustered around the shop seemed to agree with him.

"Will I be able to fly on a broom?" he asked Snape as they headed to get his wand. 

"You'll get lessons like all the other first-years," said Snape.

Harry was disappointed. School didn't start for a month, and he had hoped to try out flying while the weather was still good.

They approached a dingy-looking shop with just a single wand lying in the window in the front. Snape pushed open the door and a bell jingled deep within the shop. Harry was shocked by the intensity of magic in the room they entered. It didn't look like much – in fact, it reminded him of Ingrédients Irrégulière – but there was a strange current in the air that made him shiver. Snape didn't appear to like the place either, but took a seat in the single chair that graced the room.

Harry was looking with interest at the long boxes lining the walls when they were joined by a strange old man whose eyes seemed to glow in the poor light.

"Mr. Ollivander," said Snape in a diffident tone.

Harry stared at his father, then back at Mr. Ollivander. The only person Snape treated politely was Dumbledore, and that was when he was in a good mood. That he was giving Mr. Ollivander so much respect was disturbing.

The pale-eyed wizard looked Snape over.

"Still have that wand? Elm. Twelve inches. Swishy. Good for Defence?" he asked. Snape nodded cautiously. "Good. Wouldn't want you to have broken it like that other one."

"That was Potter's fau-" protested Snape.

Mr. Ollivander interrupted him.

"Yes, so you told me," he said in a severe voice. "But you are here today for your son." His pale eyes focused on Harry.

"He's not my son," said Snape. Mr. Ollivander ignored him. Harry just wished the man would stop staring at him.

"The scar…" murmured Mr. Ollivander. He looked like he was going to say more, but then he noticed the glare Snape was giving him and remembered his duty. "Let me see your wand hand, Mr. Snape," said the old wizard, and it took Harry a moment to realize that Mr. Ollivander was referring to him. Beside him, Snape growled in frustration at being ignored.

Harry held out his right hand and watched in bemusement as Mr. Ollivander measured his arm while telling him all about Ollivander wands and how they were made.

The shopkeeper went off to the shelves to fetch various wands for him to try. There was soon a pile of rejected wands, and Harry was getting tired of all the swishing. Mr. Ollivander seemed happy for the challenge, however, and delved even deeper into his stores before handing him a dark-coloured wand.

"Here's one – holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple. Go on. Try it," urged Mr. Ollivander.

Harry stared at the wand. It felt warm in his hands. He brought it down in an arc and was shocked to see a spray of rainbow-coloured sparks issue forth from the end of the wand. He grinned, and heard his father mutter under his breath that now they would finally be able to leave.

Mr. Ollivander took the wand from him and began to wrap it up. He was having a conversation with himself. "Well, the wand chooses the wizard, I always say," he argued as if it response to someone else.

"What's wrong with his wand?" challenged Snape. Mr. Ollivander's eyes were fixed on Harry's scar again, and for a second Harry thought the man was going to reach out to touch it.

"The phoenix who provided the core of the wand only gave two feathers. Two wands were made. It is the brother of this wand that gave young Mr. Snape here his scar." Harry shivered under the man's gaze, but Snape wasn't affected by the pronouncement.

"You should call him Mr. Potter," said Snape stiffly. He had lost his earlier deference. "Not everyone is blessed with your omniscience."

Mr. Ollivander didn't seem affected by the insult.

"The wands tell me things, Mr. Snape," he said. "I think we can expect great things out of your son. After all, You-Know-Who-"

Snape snarled, slammed the agreed-upon price of seven galleons on the counter, grabbed Harry's wand, and swept out of the shop. Harry gave Mr. Ollivander an apologetic look, but was disturbed by the knowing smile the man gave in return.

The wizard's whisper followed him out of the shop. "Good luck, Mr. Snape."

Harry found his father staring fixedly at the window display of a nearby shop. He was amused to see that it sold witches' undergarments. Stopping beside Snape, he pretended to be interested in the display.

"I didn't know these were on my list," he said in an innocent tone.

Snape blinked, and looked down at him. The edges of his mouth quirked up into a smile for a moment before his face went blank again. He pulled the long box that held Harry's wand out of his pocket and opened it. Harry could see his wand lying nestled in the soft packing material.

Snape picked the wand up almost reverently and handed it to him.

"Keep it with you always. Many a fool has died because of a misplaced wand," said Snape.

Harry nodded his understanding, and decided not to mention that he wouldn't know the first thing about using it.

"What did Mr. Ollivander mean about my wand's brother?" he asked instead.

"Ollivander seems to get off by making useless predictions to wide-eyed first-years," said Snape scathingly. "He's worse than Trelawney. Well, on her better days, that is."

"Who's Trelawney?"

"Hogwarts' esteemed Divination professor. She also fancies herself something of a seer." Snape's sneer showed what he thought of that idea. "Do yourself a favour and don't take the class once third year comes around." They started walking again.

"Where do we go now?" asked Harry. He had everything he needed on the list. Well, except for an animal, but Snape had been avoiding that shop like the plague all day.

"Hogwarts," said Snape shortly, threading his way through the crowds towards the other end of the alley. Harry gazed longingly at _Florean__ Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour _as they walked past, but Snape didn't seem to notice. Perhaps he should ask to stop for ice cream? A boy walked by with a cone of ice cream that reached higher than his head. The ice cream changed colours every time he licked it. That decided it for Harry.

"Mr. Snape?" he called to the wizard striding ahead of him. 

"What?"

"Can we get some ice cream?" he asked hopefully.

This innocuous request stopped Snape in his tracks. The look he gave Harry when he turned around was very stern. "I mean, it's my birthday and…" Harry trailed off. He hadn't meant to remind Snape of what day it was.

His father looked extremely angry, and before Harry could say anything, he was literally dragged into a nearby gap between two buildings. To anyone who saw them, it would look like Snape was giving him a scolding, which from the expression on his father's face was probably what was going to happen.

"You actually believed I didn't know it was your birthday?" hissed Snape.

Harry was shocked. This was not what he had expected his father to say.

"You didn't want to come today," said Harry softly. Snape looked exasperated. He glared at Harry, looked around at the thinning crowds in Diagon Alley, and pulled Harry deeper into the gap.

"Listen carefully, because I'm only going to explain this once. My plans for today were to come here to buy potions ingredients and _your_ present. Albus decided it would be more fun for you to tag along, despite my obviously mistaken impression that presents were not supposed to be bought in front of their receiver. I had to revise my plans then, so I left you with Hagrid and went to buy your present." The entire monologue was given in the harshest tones, but Harry couldn't stop the grin that was threatening to take over his whole face. His father had remembered!

Snape stopped talking. The look in his eyes showed that he was very far away, and Harry's smile faltered as he wondered whether Snape was thinking of his mother again. After a moment, Snape pulled himself together and focused on Harry. He seemed very tired.

"Let's go back to Hogwarts," he said.

Harry nodded his agreement, and they headed back into Diagon Alley.

*****

Floo travel was not an experience that Harry wanted to repeat any time soon. They travelled from the Leaky Cauldron to an open fireplace in a pub called the Three Broomsticks.

"I need to sit," said Harry. His head was still spinning from the trip, but Snape swept right out of the pub with barely a nod for the woman behind the bar.

Outside was a village that reminded him of a much more spread-out Diagon Alley.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"Hogsmeade." Snape quickened his pace.

They walked back to the castle in silence. Very few people were out in the growing dusk. Harry kept sneaking glances at Snape, wondering if he had really bought him a present. He didn't appear to be carrying anything. But then, all of Harry's supplies were shrunk and in a satchel they had bought during the day. You would never know that he had a pewter cauldron, robes, regular clothing, brass scales, a telescope, glass phials, potions ingredients, and all his books in the small bag.

Hogwarts wasn't far away, and the walk passed quickly. Fang greeted them as soon as they were on the grounds, slobbering all over Harry's hands and robes. The dog stayed far away from Snape, which made Harry raise his estimate of Fang's intelligence a notch. Hagrid came out of his hut to meet them and swept Harry up into another of his back-breaking hugs. Harry could feel Snape scowling at his back, but Hagrid released him quickly.

"If you're through molesting him," said Snape, "we need to get to dinner."

Hagrid smiled at Harry.

"I'll see yeh there, then. Got a surprise fer Harry." He strode off toward his cottage as they headed for the castle. Remembering Hagrid's comments from earlier in the day, Harry was sure he knew what his surprise was.

Inside the Great Hall, Dumbledore was eating his meal and conversing merrily with a beautiful red and gold bird that perched on the end of the table. Harry found it entrancing, and was thrilled when it let out a peal of song that sent a warm shiver through his body. They took their seats, though Harry couldn't take his eyes off the bird. The Headmaster looked over at him with a smile on his face.

"I don't believe you've met my phoenix, Fawkes?" he asked.

Fawkes trilled again, then flew over to land in between Harry and Snape. Harry was shocked to see it butt its head against Snape's hand to be petted. Once his father had reluctantly done so (stroking a spot on its head that made Fawkes hum), the phoenix turned its attention to him.

"Hello, Fawkes," he said awkwardly, wondering what you actually said to a phoenix. Fawkes didn't seem to mind his lack of conversation, and gently rubbed its head against his hand before flying back to Dumbledore.

"The Evening Prophet mentioned a break-in at Gringotts today," said the Headmaster casually.

Harry pretended to be interested in his food. He could see his father looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

"We need to discuss that later, Albus," said Snape. "Hagrid didn't tell you everything."

The Headmaster nodded his assent, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't want to think about what had happened in Gringotts, especially not now.

The talk turned to inconsequential things. Dumbledore rambled on about the advantages of an all-sugar diet, ignoring the glares that Snape sent his way.

Hagrid burst in halfway through the meal to present Harry with a huge chocolate cake. It was covered in invisible candles whose flames appeared to hover over its surface. Once Harry blew the candles out, Hagrid searched carefully for them on the cake, counting as he went to make sure he got them all. It would be a bit disturbing to bite into an invisible candle. Huge pieces of cake were served, and even Snape took one, though he didn't seem to enjoy it.

In fact, Snape excused himself early, and without wishing Harry a happy birthday. Harry watched him go, wondering if he had imagined their conversation earlier in the day, until Hagrid distracted him by pulling out a covered cage to reveal a beautiful snowy owl. Harry was embarrassed at the gift, but Hagrid insisted he take it, and even told him about how he had asked Snape not to let him buy an animal.

Harry loved the majestic white bird immediately, and was amused when the owl and Fawkes had a conversation that consisted entirely of hoots and trilling.

Dumbledore surprised him with a book called _Uric Beaufolle: A Closer Look at The Oddball_ by Radolphus Pittiman, which made Harry wonder if Dumbledore had noticed that he hadn't believed the Headmaster's earlier tales about Uric the Oddball.

Hagrid gave him some tips on caring for his owl, then took his leave, followed by Dumbledore, who made some comment about old men needing their sleep, or at least a chamber pot. Harry took his time devouring a second piece of cake. His gaze kept going to the ceiling of the Great Hall and the beautiful stars that were now visible.

"What should I call you?" he asked the snowy owl. It hooted back at him. He thought back to his conversation with Hagrid. He had called the owl a she, hadn't he? Harry had read a good name in _Hogwarts: A History_ the other day. Godewina the Great had been one of Hogwarts' most famous graduates in the fifteenth century.

"How does Godewina sound?" The owl met his eyes for a moment, then hooted its consent. Harry grinned.

When he was finished with the cake (and feeling a bit queasy from all the food), he took Godewina down to his room with him. The snowy bird let out an interrogative hoot when they entered.

"Yes, I know it's very green," said Harry, placing the cage on his dresser, along with the book and his satchel. Despite the gifts, he couldn't help but feel tired and disappointed. He decided to just go to bed rather than think about everything that had happened today, but stopped in surprise.

Two packages, one flat and one long and thin lay on the bed. He stared at them. Could they be Snape's presents?

He opened the long one first, his mouth dropping open in surprise when he saw what the wrappings revealed. The glowing broom he had seen earlier in Diagon Alley lay cushioned on his green coverlet. He read the words engraved on its side. Nimbus 2000. It was beautiful. He spent the next few minutes admiring it before laying it aside in favour of his other present.

All he could see was the back of a picture frame when he opened it. A piece of parchment fell out of the wrapping. He read it before looking at his gift.

_It's charmed so only you can see it. Everyone else will see a view of Hogwarts. Happy Birthday._

Harry stared at the parchment for a moment before flipping the picture over. The frame was old and worn, but Harry was more interested in the picture within. It showed his family. His real family. His mother looked very tired, but she was smiling. Harry could see himself as a newborn in her arms, waving one tiny hand around. His father stood beside her. He was wearing red robes that Harry suspected were James', though Snape looked like himself. He was looking back and forth between his wife and son with a mixture of pride and love.

Harry smiled at the picture, a fierce joy taking hold of him. He placed the broom against one wall. The picture went on his bedside. It was the last thing he saw before he fell asleep.


	5. Flying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to all my readers and to my beta, Alchemine:)

A/N: Thanks to all my readers and to my beta, Alchemine:)

            Snape wasn't at breakfast the next morning. Harry was disappointed, but tried not to show it. He was hoping that his father might be willing to teach him how to use the broom…

            "Good morning, Harry. How is your owl?" asked Dumbledore, looking up from a parchment he was reading.

            "Godewina's fine, sir," said Harry. He sat down and toyed with his sausages for a bit before asking the question that was on his mind. Dumbledore had gone back to his parchment and was humming to himself.

            "Excuse me," Harry said. Dumbledore looked up, smiling. "Do you know where Mr. Snape is?"

            "Severus is at the Snapes' castle, I believe. The house elves have been having trouble getting around some of the more ancient protections there," he explained.

            "Castle? He said he had a house."

            "Well, it is a small castle," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. He didn't seem to notice the incredulous look that Harry was giving him. The old wizard began humming again, leaving Harry to his breakfast.

He ate quickly, then wandered toward his room, wondering if he should actually do what he was thinking of doing. The broom was still leaning against the wall, and Harry hesitated for a moment before taking its handle firmly in his hand. He held it vertical and let it drop. It hit the carpet and bounced before lying still.

Harry stared at the prone broom. He was sure that the broom was supposed to support him, not the other way around. But how was it supposed to support him if it didn't float? He considered asking Dumbledore, but he couldn't even picture the old wizard on a broom, not to mention that the Headmaster might forbid him from flying if he mentioned it. He could ask Hagrid… Harry imagined the huge man riding the Nimbus 2000 and winced when the broom broke under Hagrid's weight. Surely he could figure this out on his own.

He removed the broom from the carpet, and slung it over his shoulder. He couldn't resist going over to the picture of his family and giving it one last look before he left. His father looked so happy in it.

He checked to make sure he still had his wand with him before he set off, walking quickly down various corridors, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible with a broom in his hands. It took him about ten minutes to realize he was lost.

Harry groaned inwardly. No matter how well he thought he knew Hogwarts, he would try to get somewhere and find the layout of the castle had changed overnight. He was sure he had seen that statue of Beatrice the Bemused in three different places in the last couple of days. He kept walking in the hopes that he would wander into an area that he recognized.

Turning a corner, he saw Mr. Filch, the caretaker, on his knees near a bucket of water. Then his foot came down on something soft. There was a great yowl, and Harry went flying forward. His broom skidded further down the corridor, but his body hit the bucket, sending its contents all over Mr. Filch and the surrounding floor.

Harry landed hard, wincing as his chin hit the stone. His glasses went flying, and a menacing hiss from a grey blur beside him alerted him to the fact that he had tripped over Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat. Harry scrambled for his glasses and sat up. This was not going to be fun.

He had been avoiding Filch since he had arrived at Hogwarts. The man's forbidding expression and his tendency to mutter imprecations at mischievous students – despite there not being any students around during the summer holiday – was enough to make Harry stay clear. The angry look on Mr. Filch's face made him wish he had continued this practice. The caretaker's expression reminded him uncomfortably of an angry Uncle Vernon.

In an attempt to stave off the inevitable scolding, Harry jumped up and grabbed the nearby mop. He quickly used it to clear up the spreading water near him, replacing as much of the water as he could in the bucket.

Mr. Filch watched him in silence, but when Harry went to clean up the rest of the floor, Mr. Filch grabbed the handle of the mop to stop him.

"It's not your job," said Mr. Filch in a gruff voice.

"I'm sorry," Harry said to both Mr. Filch and Mrs. Norris. Despite the water dripping from his clothes, Mr. Filch seemed to accept the apology.

"Look where you are going next time," he said, and started using the mop. Mrs. Norris was still watching him with her oddly coloured eyes, but she didn't seem angry anymore.

Harry went to pick up his broom and examine it for any damage. There was none he could see.

"You're not planning on flying in here, are you?" asked Filch in a menacing voice, pausing in his task. Harry froze for a moment, then turned around to shake his head 'no' at the man. "Good." Filch went back to his mop as Mrs. Norris rubbed against his leg, purring. Harry let out a breath he had been holding, and headed down the corridor away from them. A few right-turns later, he found a familiar staircase. The library was only a few doorways beyond it, and he didn't run into anyone else along the way. He had been lucky that Filch hadn't found it odd to see him wandering around with a broom.

The library was a large room that gave the impression of being small because so much of its space was taken up with books. Harry went over to the row of thick books that represented a listing of all the tomes in the library. It took him some time to figure out how to look up things, but eventually he discovered where he might find books on flying.

He located the proper spot on the shelves and spent a few moments wondering whether _How to Fly_ by Sollis Caelum or _Flying: The Basic_s by Eramus Divum would help him more. Eventually, he took them both over to a table and started reading.

Ten minutes later, he closed both books and wondered if it was that easy. All he had to do was say 'up'? He was tempted to try it right there, but remembering his encounter with Filch, he put the books away and ran through the corridors towards the main doors. Once there, he opened them slightly to peek out. Hagrid and Fang were nowhere to be seen, so he slipped outside.

It was not exactly a nice day. The sky was grey and it looked like it would rain any moment, but Harry had gone too far to stop now. He headed towards the Quidditch field and stopped when he reached its well-trimmed grass.

Carefully placing the Nimbus 2000 on the ground and closing his eyes, he held out his hand.

"Up," he said firmly. The broom's handle slammed into his palm. He opened his eyes and grinned.

He mounted the broom, putting his hands in the positions he had seen in a diagram in one of the books. Taking a deep breath, he kicked off the ground. The broom rose smoothly and responded perfectly to all his commands, and soon he found himself laughing with delight. He felt like he could do anything. To challenge himself, he followed a fly around the field, looping and zigzagging whenever it did. When it disappeared, he occupied himself by attempting – well, anything he could think of doing while on a broom.

He was doing a complicated figure eight around some rings at the end of the field when he heard a voice calling his name. Bringing the broom to a halt, he spun around. Someone was standing near the edge of the field. He let the broom drift sideways until he was close enough to see that the black-robed figure was his father.

He grinned and angled the broom so he was rushing straight towards Snape at a terrific speed. He didn't realize until he got closer that Snape was giving him an industrial-strength glare. It was easy to make the broom stop just before he hit the ground, though his grin faded at the look on his father's face. Perhaps he should have stayed in the air.

"Who told you that you could go flying on your own?" asked Snape through gritted teeth. He looked as if he was about to pull out his wand and hex Harry.

Harry gave him a defiant look. Snape probably wouldn't have shown him how to fly even if he had been here.

"No one told me I couldn't," he said, trying to meet Snape's glare with one of his own. Unfortunately, Snape had had years of practice. Harry was forced to look away.

"The Quidditch field is not protected the way Hogwarts is," said Snape slowly. "You can't be out here without supervision. Don't you remember what happened at Gringotts?"

Harry felt a wave of sadness come over him. Of course he remembered. He had dreamt about it last night…

Snape sighed. "You can't do this again, Harry," he said in a flat tone.

"I can't fly?" Harry protested. His moments on the broom today had been some of the happiest in his life.

"No!" Snape spit out. "You can't go outside without another wizard to accompany you," he explained slowly, as if to a slow student.

Harry frowned, but nodded his reluctant agreement.

"Will you watch me fly, then?" he asked.

Snape smirked at him.

"Yes, but tonight you're helping me mince ferret livers," he said, sounding very pleased.

Harry blanched at the evil-sounding task. "Why?" he asked.

"Consider it a lesson in why you should ask before doing something like this," said Snape. "Are you going to fly, or are you going to stand there gawking?"

Harry grimaced, and got back on his broom. Well, at least he got to fly.

*****

            When he awakened on the Tuesday after his birthday, the castle was strangely quiet. He took his broom with him to breakfast, but discovered that a veritable downpour was falling outside.

During the meal, Hagrid came into the front hall, looking as wet as if he had been swimming, and informed Dumbledore that the lake was overflowing and flooding some of the lower areas of the castle.

            The Headmaster rushed to protect the castle, as did Snape, after sternly admonishing him not to go out in the rain or into the flooded lower levels. His father had actually been letting him fly for an hour or two each day, and Harry was grateful for it, even if Snape just sat impatiently in a conjured chair on the side of the field. He wanted to know what Snape thought of his flying, but the opportunity to ask never seemed to come up. It was impossible to fly in this weather however, especially now that he had been forbidden to go outside.

He ate the rest of breakfast alone, then returned his broom to his room. He didn't feel like reading, so he headed for some of the upper floors of the castle. There had to be something he could do to occupy himself.

The corridors were still. The rain outside muffled the noise of his footsteps. He heard a distant cackle and quickened his pace. He had run into Peeves the Poltergeist on his first day exploring Hogwarts. Peeves had attempted to get him lost, but had soon given up when he realized that Harry didn't mind being lost (most of the time). His occasional run-ins with the poltergeist after that had not been fun. He was becoming very adept at dodging the vengeful spirit.

Peeves' cackles sounded like they were right behind him now, so he pushed open the first door he saw – a heavy oak one that he'd never been through before – and shut it as quietly as he could behind him. Then he turned to survey the room, leaving Peeves to ramble on madly about Hogwarts sinking as he passed by the closed door. 

It looked like a children's playroom. A wooden rocking horse stood next to his feet. He reached out to touch it and was shocked when it neighed and tossed its head. Other children's toys were scattered about the room, looking as if they had been left where they had fallen when the children were tired of them. The once light-blue curtains had turned grey with age and the wallpaper was so faded he couldn't make out its original pattern. Harry was sure that nobody – except maybe the house-elves – had been in this room for years.

For a moment, he hesitated to disturb the room, but his curiosity won out and he wandered around aimlessly, marvelling at the wizarding toys. Pushing aside the fragile curtains to look outside, he saw that he would have had a wonderful view of the lake if the rain hadn't been falling so hard.

"It raineth here. It raineth there," said a voice behind him.

Harry whirled around and saw nothing. The room looked exactly the same, though the rocking horse was now rocking slowly back and forth.

"The rain doth fall everywhere," continued the voice. It seemed to be coming from the right, so Harry took a step in that direction. There was a chill in the air.

            "But not on me. No. Never on me," the voice lamented in a dramatic tone. It had come from the low table in front of him, but all Harry could see there was an abundance of painted porcelain cats of the sort Mrs. Figg had favoured. His eyes focused in particular on a blue and white one with little flower patterns running up its back.

            "Where are you?" Harry asked softly. He jumped slightly when the porcelain cat moved.

            "Where are you?" repeated the voice mockingly. Harry was sure it came from the cat, though its painted porcelain smile never wavered. He was reminded of the _Alice in Wonderland_ book that the Dursleys had read to Dudley when he was younger, until Dudley had thrown the book in the fireplace one day. This was like talking to the Cheshire cat, only stranger.

            "Hello? I'm still here," said the voice impatiently. It sounded a lot younger than before.

            "I'm sorry, but I've never talked to a porcelain cat before," said Harry. The entire table shook, and the cat fell over. Harry watched in surprise as a strange glowing mist streamed out of the cat and coalesced above the table.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not a porcelain cat." It was the ghost of a boy, perhaps a few years older than Harry. Although it was hard to tell through the blue tint that all ghosts had, Harry thought that the boy had brown hair and clear grey eyes. He was wearing the standard robes of a Hogwarts student. There was a silver stain right where the boy's house crest should have been.

            "Who are you?" he asked, knowing he had never seen this particular ghost around the castle before. The boy bowed slightly to him.

            "Josiah Ashburn," he said.

Harry wondered if he was supposed to recognize the name. The boy looked as if he were expecting something.

            "I've never seen you before," said Harry.

Josiah looked sad as he waved his hand to encompass the room and its contents.

            "I've been haunting this room for years and years," he said. "You're my first visitor, and I was bored enough to try scaring you."

            "You might want to try blood and howling next time," advised Harry. "Why can't you roam the castle like the other ghosts?"

Josiah looked around as if he were afraid someone might be listening.

            "Some of the ghosts here can be really territorial," he said in a soft voice.

Harry pictured the Bloody Baron, and nodded his understanding. He had never realized that ghosts could have it so tough. Josiah had already died after all. He deserved some happiness.

            "Is there anything I can do for you?" Harry asked hesitantly.

Josiah looked like he was thinking hard, then grinned broadly at him.

            "You can let me haunt your watch!" he said triumphantly.

            "What will that do?" Harry asked.

            "Haunting objects is a bit harder than haunting a room, but I've had plenty of practice in doing so," Josiah said, gesturing at the porcelain cats. "If I haunt your watch, no one can object to my roaming about the castle." Harry looked down at his watch. It was an old one of Dudley's. The band was way too big for him, but it still worked.

            "Will it hurt the watch?" he asked.

Josiah shook his head no.

            "You won't even notice. Though you can talk to me if you want to," the ghost said hesitantly.

Harry imagined it must have been very lonely to be stuck in this room for eternity. He grinned at the boy.

            "Of course I'll talk to you. I bet you know a lot of things about Hogwarts that I don't." A ghost had to be more interesting than _Hogwarts: A History_, he thought.

Josiah nodded in mock solemnity.

            "I know everything," he intoned, then started laughing. "Well, I do know where a room full of magical wigs is at least. Want to see if it's still here?"

Harry nodded, and watched as Josiah streamed into a thin line of blue and descended into his watch. It made Harry's wrist cold, and he shivered a little but the watch continued to tick like always.

            "Are you still there?" he asked, feeling a bit silly about talking to his watch.

Josiah's head came out of the watch to hover above it.

            "Yes. Let's go find some wigs," he said.

Harry nodded and headed out the door. He was going to have to thank Peeves someday.


	6. Father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to my reviewers and my beta, Alchemine.

A/N: Thanks to my reviewers and my beta, Alchemine.

            Harry and Josiah spent their time wandering around Hogwarts. It was a lot more fun to explore with two people ― well, one person, and a ghost ― and Josiah's knowledge of the castle helped, though Harry really couldn't have cared less what they did, though. No one had ever wanted to be friends with him before, not with Dudley around to make it clear that they didn't. There were times when Harry could convince himself that he was playing with another boy, but then Josiah would float through a wall, or dive into Harry's watch.

            Josiah dove into the watch a lot, especially when there was a chance that another person or ghost might see him. At first, Harry had wanted to tell his father about Josiah, but then he decided he couldn't risk it. What if Snape forbade him to see Josiah? Most wizards didn't like ghosts. They tolerated them, but they didn't like them. He didn't want to condemn Josiah to an eternity in that toy room. So Harry told no one about his new friend, and if Snape noticed that Harry was spending less time flying and had a tendency to address his comments to the world at large, he didn't mention it.

            They were now exploring the castle to see what had changed since Josiah's time.

The other morning, Josiah had admitted to being in his third year when he died, then had quickly changed the subject.

Harry rounded a corner, then immediately jumped back and pressed himself against the wall. Josiah didn't stop soon enough and floated right through him, sending an icy chill down his spine.

            "What did you see?" Josiah looked as if he wanted to know whether he should hide or not.

            "My father and Dumbledore," Harry whispered, then put a finger to his lips to show he wanted silence. Josiah nodded and dove into the watch, leaving Harry to listen. The two older wizards appeared to have stopped a short way down the corridor.

            "… Severus," said Dumbledore.

            "He seems more interested in flying and wandering about the castle than learning some serious magic," said Snape scathingly.

Harry frowned. What did he mean by "serious magic?"

            "I strongly doubt he would refuse you if you asked him. Unless you've asked him already?" inquired Dumbledore.

Snape sounded a bit sheepish when he responded.

            "No, I haven't," said the younger wizard. Then he paused. "Are you sure you don't mind me teaching him these things? He could cause a lot of trouble, especially if he winds up somewhere like Gryffindor." He practically spat the last word.

            "Lily was in Gryffindor," said Dumbledore gently. There was a long silence before the Headmaster continued. "He's your son, Severus, which means his extracurricular education is in your hands. But with the enemies he has, I believe that not knowing these things could hurt him more. The incident at Gringotts was disturbing, to say the least."

In his mind's eye, Harry could picture his father nodding curtly. The sound of footsteps resumed, heading towards him, and Harry flattened himself even further against the wall. The two wizards didn't seem to notice him as they walked by.

            "I don't believe I've mentioned what a lovely gift you gave him for his birthday," Dumbledore remarked. Harry could now see the back of their robes as they proceeded down the corridor.

            "The broom was your idea, Albus," Snape reminded him in a long-suffering tone.

            "I wasn't talking about that, Severus." They passed beyond Harry's view, but he could still hear Snape's response.

            "You know everything that goes on in this castle, don't you?" said the younger wizard accusingly. The Headmaster's delighted laughter echoed down the corridor.

Harry stayed where he was, straining to hear more. After nearly a minute of silence, he relaxed and slumped to the floor. He had a lot to think about.

            "I didn't know he was your father," said Josiah, popping his head out of the watch.

Harry jumped. He had forgotten Josiah was there. He stared at his friend, trying to think of a response, and a wave of guilt came over him. He had promised Snape he wouldn't slip up, and here he had told Josiah after only a couple of days. What was he going to do once classes started, when hundreds of people would be around to hear if he made a mistake?

            He frowned, and came to a decision. From now on, his father would be Professor Snape, or Snape, or Mr. Snape, but not Father. He didn't want to lose his father – no, _Snape_ – because of such a trivial thing.

            "Harry? Are you all right?" asked Josiah in a worried tone.

Harry blinked and realized he had been clenching his teeth so tight it hurt. He forced himself to relax and focus on Josiah.

            "I'm fine. Listen, you can't tell anyone about Snape. Nobody is supposed to know. Promise me you won't tell," he said desperately.

Josiah frowned at him.

            "Who would I tell?" he said with a shrug. "But I promise not to," he hastened to add. "You have my word."

Harry nodded in relief.

            "You don't look much like him, you know," said the ghost slyly.

            "Josiah," Harry warned. The ghost just grinned.

            "Now at least you sound like him," he said. Harry was unsure if he had been complimented or insulted. Deciding to ignore the comment, he continued down the corridor that Snape and Dumbledore had so recently occupied. Josiah floated beside him as Harry walked along, lost in his own thoughts.

            "Here it is!" exclaimed Josiah.

            "What?" said Harry.

Josiah gave him an impatient look. "The room I was looking for. It must have migrated a few corridors over. Come on." He dove through the door before Harry could open it.

Harry frowned. He hated it when Josiah did that. Reaching for the door latch, he attempted to lift it. It didn't move. He tried harder. Nothing.

            "Josiah," he called softly as he could. Who knew who might be listening? "It's locked." For a second he thought Josiah hadn't heard, but then his head popped through the door.

            "Really?" asked the ghost. "It was never locked when I was a student here. In fact, students were encouraged to use it." He floated fully through the door so that he could face Harry.

            "Maybe something happened in there," said Harry with a shrug. "It's shut now. I guess you'll have to enjoy it on your own."

Josiah gave him an annoyed look. The ghost ran his hand through his hair and stared at the door, muttering under his breath. The only word that Harry could make out was "self-sacrificing."

            "All right," said Josiah finally. "I know a spell that should work. Take out your wand."

Harry did so with some trepidation. Who knew how long it had been since Josiah had done magic?

"Now point it at the latch and focus on the idea of it opening. Once you have an image of the latch opening in your mind, say '_Alohomora_'. Be careful to say it exactly as I said it."

Harry nodded and stared determinedly at the latch. Opening…

"_Alohomora_," repeated Josiah helpfully.

            "_Alohomora_," said Harry, and the latch clicked open. He stared in shock. Some part of him had expected it not to work. "Is all magic like that?" he asked.

            "The easy stuff is. You won't even have to focus as much once you practice a little. I thought I'd take it slow since you hadn't used a wand before," said Josiah smugly. "Well? Are you going to go in?"

Harry pushed open the door, wand still in his hand.

            Inside, strangely enough was a typical English garden. Boxes on either side of him overflowed with herbs and wildflowers, sending a pungent scent into the air. A narrow gravel path led between the boxes. It was framed by rising hedges, and in the distance he could see a stand of trees. Everything was overgrown, as if it hadn't been tended for a long time. Harry looked up at the sky, perplexed by the brilliant sunlight. It had been raining in the Great Hall only a few hours ago.

            "It's always spring here," said Josiah, answering his unspoken question. "Occasionally you'll get a sun shower, and it does get dark at night, but the moon is always bright." He sounded a bit wistful.

            "You used to spend a lot of time here, didn't you?" asked Harry. He started walking up the path.

            "If I'd known it was abandoned, I would have been haunting here."

            "You still can," said Harry, thinking that he would be sad to lose Josiah's company.

Josiah pinned him with a stare.

            "If I were corporeal, I'd be grabbing you and attempting to shake some sense into you. Are you trying to get rid of me or something? I can leave if I'm bothering you."

            "No!" blurted out Harry. "You're not bothering me." He fell silent. He wanted to tell Josiah about the Dursleys and explain that he had never had a friend before, but he didn't know how.

Josiah stared hard at him, then nodded slowly.

            "Right. Then no more of these comments about me leaving," he said and headed off down the path. Harry followed slowly.

A gap in the hedges to one side revealed a fountain with a statue of a dragon, which would have been spouting water from its mouth if the fountain hadn't been dry. Harry took a step closer and saw patterns made by coloured tiles at the bottom of the fountain. They formed a picture. He walked up to the fountain and leant against the edge to see better, but it crumbled under his hands and sent a pile of rubble and dust over the tiles.

            "This way," said Josiah, sticking his head through the hedge. Harry forgot about the fountain and ran back to the main path. He was just in time to see Josiah float through the stand of trees he had seen earlier. They formed a dense patch of forest, but Harry was able to push his way through. Once inside, he discovered that the inner trees formed a ring around a roughly cut standing stone with an iron ring embedded in its side.

            "Tradition says that the older students used to flog the younger ones who disobeyed them by tying them to this stone and whipping them with branches cut from the trees," Josiah told him. Harry regarded the stone with morbid curiosity.

            "Really?" he asked. Josiah shrugged.

            "Who knows? They had certainly stopped doing it by the time I came here."

            "When did you come here?" asked Harry, but Josiah didn't answer.

*****

            Harry was getting ready for bed that night when a knock came upon the door. Before he could get it, the door opened to reveal his fa– Snape. Harry froze with his pyjamas in his hands.

Snape looked like he was ready to do battle. His face was set in the sternest expression Harry had ever seen. The wizard strode inside and surveyed the room with distaste before focusing on him.

            "I am going to teach you magic," said Snape in his most severe tones. "These spells will probably never be on your curriculum, and if I catch you using them on a fellow student, you will be doing worse than mincing ferret livers." He stared menacingly at his son until Harry nodded to show he understood.

He decided to venture a question.

            "Why won't these spells be in my curriculum?" he asked. Was this what Snape had meant by "serious magic?" Instead of answering, Snape turned and pointed his wand at a nearby chair.

            "_Oxys_," he said. A jet of sickly yellow light left the wand and hit the chair's back. Wood melted, ran down in thick globs, and puddled on the seat.

Snape stopped before the spell could strike the wall behind the chair. "I learnt that in my second year," he said grimly. "It's not illegal, and I've heard they use it to great effect against pests in Australia, but it has been associated with the Dark Arts since Daphir the Depraved used it to torture his enemies in the early 1500s. To use it in a duel, for instance, would be considered bad taste. Very bad taste."

            "Why are you teaching it to me, then?" Harry had to ask. Would Snape give him the same reason Dumbledore had mentioned earlier?

            "Because some wizards aren't concerned with 'bad taste'. The Lestranges were a very good example," said Snape.

            "The who?"

            "Never mind. Do you want to learn or not?" There was an odd note in Snape's tone as he asked the question. Was he nervous?

            "Yes, sir," said Harry carefully. Snape nodded.

            "Very well. Follow me!" he commanded before sweeping out of the room. Harry paused.

            "Stay in there, Josiah," he whispered to his watch before running to catch up. Snape strode quickly through the multitude of stone-lined corridors that made up Hogwarts' lower levels.

            They entered what looked like an abandoned classroom. With a wave of his wand, Snape pushed all the desks and chairs to one side, then physically pulled one chair out of the group to place in the centre of the room.

            "There's your target," he said. He walked over to Harry and pulled him toward the middle of the room, treating him just like the chair. Harry ended up about six feet in front of the chair with Snape standing beside him.

            "Take out your wand!" Snape ordered. Harry did as he was told. "Don't grip your wand with your whole hand like that! It isn't a sausage!" Snape reached down and adjusted Harry's grip on his wand so that Harry was holding it lightly between his thumb and forefinger.

            "That will give you flexibility in a duel and better aim. A wizard who grips his wand with his whole hand has probably never been taught to duel. His or her movements will be wild and flailing compared to yours. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded. He noticed his hand had unconsciously relaxed into its earlier position, and hastily corrected himself.

            "Somehow I doubt you do," said Snape dryly. He turned and pointed his wand in quick succession at three chairs in different parts of the room. With each gesture, he said "_Candeo_," and light jetted from the wand to hit the chairs, making each chair momentarily glow a brilliant white. Then Snape turned back to Harry and met his eyes.

            "Try it with that ham-fisted style you were using before, then try it my way." He paused. "All you need to do is say the spell and focus on what you want it to accomplish," he said begrudgingly. He seemed annoyed to have to explain even that much.

Harry nodded quickly to show he understood. This spell seemed a lot easier than Josiah's unlocking spell, though he wasn't about to tell Snape that.

            He gripped the wand the "wrong way" and pointed it at the first chair. He focused on the image of the chair glowing the way it had when Snape had done it. "_Candeo_," he said, easily sending a jet of light at the first chair, before turning to the next one, and the next. He waited until the last glow faded before looking at the other wizard. Snape did not look impressed.

            "Now the other way," he said. Harry held the wand between his thumb and forefinger, and awkwardly went through the exercise again. The wand felt strange in his hand, but he hardly had to move to hit each chair. He had no way of checking, but he was sure his aim had improved as well.

            "Easier?" asked Snape.

            "Yes, Mr. Snape." The other wizard frowned for a moment, then seemed to notice the forgotten chair that he had placed in the middle of the room at the beginning of the lesson.

            "Do you remember the spell I used in your room?" Snape asked in a distracted tone. Harry nodded. "Then try it on the chair."

"Mr. Snape?"

Snape sighed.

            "Yes?"

            "What is advanced magic? Why do we need to know more than a few spells?" Harry asked. If magic was so easy that he could makes spells work on his first try, he couldn't see why Hogwarts students spent seven years learning it.

Snape gave him a hard look, and Harry thought he wasn't going to answer – but then the wizard turned to consider the chair again.

            "What do you think you would say to make that chair glow green?" Snape asked. Harry thought about it. Something in Latin, he was sure, but he couldn't remember the little he had learnt in school.

            "I don't know."

            Snape pointed his wand at the chair. "_Candeo__ viridis_," he said. A jet of pale green light hit the chair and made it glow green. He smiled in satisfaction, then turned back to Harry.

            "Do you know what you would say to turn that chair into a cat?" he asked.

Harry didn't have the faintest idea. He shook his head no.

"Even if you did, it wouldn't matter. In addition to saying the spell, you have to know the proper wand movements and have the proper mindset. It even requires a certain strength of will. After all, you are forcing your image of the object on top of what the object wants to be." Snape seemed to be warming to his topic. "That's why it's even harder to transfigure another living thing, especially another wizard or yourself."

            "Can you do it?" asked Harry eagerly, enthralled by the idea of seeing such complicated magic. Snape looked offended.

            "Of course I can," he snapped. "But Minerva is perfectly capable of teaching you this herself. What I'm teaching you won't be learnt from any of your textbooks. And it will not be easy," he warned. "Now point your wand at that chair and melt a hole in it! And stop asking me useless questions!"

Harry frowned and did as he was told.


	7. The Sorting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>             The lessons continued, and Josiah said he was getting very good at magic, though Snape never told him so. He seemed to expect Harry to be not only good, but perfect. It made their lessons very frustrating to say the least.

            The lessons continued, and Josiah said he was getting very good at magic, though Snape never told him so. He seemed to expect Harry to be not only good, but perfect. It made their lessons very frustrating to say the least.

            Life got even harder when the various professors began to arrive. Most of them were excited to meet him, though he still remembered with horror the afternoon when Professor Vector cornered him to explain the basics of arthimancy. He hadn't escaped until midnight and had then been yelled at by Snape for staying up too late.

            Of all the arriving professors, McGonnagal was probably his favourite. He suspected she could be very stern when she wanted to be, but the first time they met, she invited him for a cup of tea and they talked of nothing but quidditch for over two hours. After that, she had even come out to see him fly, telling him he'd have a place on the Gryffindor team in a second if he was sorted there. She then offered to watch him fly whenever he needed to. Harry had thought that Snape would be happy to be relieved of his onerous watch duty, but he was strangely silent when Harry told him.

            "Why don't you call me father anymore?" he asked suddenly. Harry was surprised. He hadn't thought that Snape had noticed.

            "You said you didn't want me to."

            "I said you couldn't in public, but privately is all right if you're careful," said Snape. Harry had to ask.

            "Do you want me to call you father?" he asked, hating how small his voice sounded. He had totally forgotten about his vow. Snape looked away from him and growled to himself.

            "Yes, I want you to call me father. Why do you always want to talk about these things?"

            "Because you never do!" cried Harry. They both stared at each other, than Snape just turned and walked away.

            That had been the day before the Sorting, and they hadn't spoken since. It had been McGonnagal who reminded him not to be late for the ceremony later in the day.

            Harry didn't want to be the one to tell her that he wasn't going to be following her advice.

*****

            He gazed out the eye of one of the crenulations. The Great Hall looked very different with all the students and professors in it. He had a good view of the High Table, but one look at the scowling face of his father and he decided to observe the students instead.

            It took him only a moment to work out which table belonged to each house. Their house colours and ghosts gave them away. The students were all chatting and having a much better time than he was having.

            The chatting stopped for a moment when the Great Doors opened. Professor McGonnagal walked out in her best robes, leading a queue two-deep of first-years towards the High Table. Harry regarded them closely.

            "That blonde on looks like one of the boys who used to tease me," observed Josiah. Harry would have asked for an explanation, but the hall grew very quiet and Harry could clearly hear the Sorting Hat sing its opening song. Harry had been told all about it by both Snape and McGonnagal, so he shrunk back from his vantage point and leant against the wall.

            He really should be out there, but a stubborn part of him made him stay where he was. If he wasn't sorted, than Snape wouldn't have to teach him, or even see him, which was obviously what Snape wanted.

            "You sure I can't change your mind?" asked Josiah, breaking into Harry's thoughts.

            "No," said Harry flatly. Josiah had already tried once to convince him to go to the Sorting. Josiah continued to stare frowningly at him making Harry turn away and look back down at the hall. Ravenclaw table was cheering for their latest member.

            "Perks, Sally-Anne," called out Professor McGonnagal. A blonde-haired girl walked up to the stool and sat down. Professor McGonnagal dropped the hat on her head. It sat silent for a moment than screamed out.

            "HUFFLEPUFF," yelled the hat. The girl headed to the Hufflepuff table amidst the cheering of its occupants.

            "Potter, Harry," called Professor McGonnagal. Harry saw her look at the queue of first-years, than look again. She turned towards Dumbledore. Harry looked as well, and nearly took a step back. The Headmaster seemed to be looking directly at him.

            Dumbledore took a sip from his goblet, than spoke into the silence that had fallen over the Great Hall.

            "I believe I've left my lemon drops in my other robes. If you could just hold the ceremony until I get them, Minerva." He stood up and walked towards the door. The Headmaster gave no impression of haste, but he made it out the doors before McGonnagal could even think to protest.

            Harry continued to watch the commotion, studiously avoiding looking at the Head Table.

            "Harry," whispered Josiah in his ear a few seconds before someone tapped him on the shoulder. Harry grimaced and turned to see Dumbledore standing there with a bag of lemon drops in his hand.

            "Would you like one, Harry?" asked Dumbledore genially as he conjured up two small chairs for them to sit in. Harry shook his head no and reluctantly took a seat. He didn't want to talk, but he wasn't sure how to avoid it.

            "It's so much easier to get muggle sweets these days," said Dumbledore as he popped a lemon drop into his mouth. "When I was at Hogwarts, we had to sneak out and go as far as Edinburgh to get a few muggle sweets. Of course, Honeydukes wasn't in business then." He popped in another lemon drop, than sat in silence. It seemed to go on forever.

            "He doesn't care!" burst out Harry. Dumbledore gave him a serious look over his half-moon spectacles.

            "On the contrary, Harry. He cares very much, which is why he so desperately tries not to," said Dumbledore. Harry looked at him in confusion. As Dumbledore's statements went, this one seemed more obtuse than usual.

            "I don't understand," he said. Dumbledore sighed.

            "Your father was shattered by Lily's death. He was deemed a danger to himself and others, but no one understood why. It wasn't as if his wife had died. The Ministry did no support him despite his role in our cause. And he certainly wasn't fit to take care of you, no matter what he's told you," said Dumbledore, answering Harry's unspoken question. "There were some hard times, but I finally convinced him to take some time off to do potions research, something that has always calmed him. After a few years, he asked to teach here. He's never given me a reason why, but I suspect it was so he could see you as you grew up. That is, if he had never chosen to reveal himself to you."

            "I don't think he wants me here," admitted Harry. He had to look away from Dumbledore's kind face.

            "Has he told you that?" Dumbledore asked. Harry shook his head no. "Well," said Dumbledore in an almost playful tone. "I'm not sure if you've noticed this, but your father is rather direct for a Slytherin. If he didn't want you, you would definitely know." Dumbledore stood up and shook out his robes. "Sure you won't have a lemon drop?" Harry shook his head. "Well then, if you take the secret passage behind this tapestry," he said, gesturing to a nearby tapestry of the World Cup Quidditch Match of 1473. "You can beat me to the Great Hall." He walked out the door, and Harry stood for a moment before running for the tapestry.

            He entered the Great Hall at a run, but slowed down under the weight of the stares of all the students. Without meaning to, he looked up at his father. The older wizard was glaring at him, his black eyes smouldering.

            Harry shrunk away from that glare for a moment, than straightened up and met it with one of his own. It was hard to remember Dumbledore's words when he saw no evidence for them. "There was the photo," said a small voice in his head, but Harry didn't want to remember it.

            He walked resolutely up to the stool and sat down. Professor McGonnagal pursed her lips at him, and waited for Dumbledore to sit down before placing the Sorting Hat on his head.

            "That was very brave of you, lad," said a voice in his head.

            "Put me in Gryffindor please," thought Harry before he lost his nerve. Snape wouldn't have to deal with him then, and his father could treat him as horribly as he liked.

            "Not so fast. Life is never that simple," said the hat. "You'll do just as well in any house. Let me have a closer look at you." Harry sat silent. He had the strangest feeling that the hat was looking through his brain with all the ardour of an old lady at a rummage sale.

            "Family is important to you, isn't it?" asked the hat in a strange tone. "You would do well in Gryffindor, but I think it's best for your sake, and your father's that I put you in SLYTHERIN!"

*****

A/N: Okay. Please don't kill me if I've put Harry in a house you didn't expect him to be in. I spent over a month trying to decide which house to put him in. Rest assured each house was equally considered. If you want a more detailed description of my thought process let me know and I will email it to you. It basically came down to plot and me deciding that I didn't just want to rewrite the first book.

To everyone who reviewed, thank you. The correctness of the wand grip lesson was taken from my own lessons in fencing since the slightest movement can make a large difference in your aim. I figured it would work just as well for 'wand waving'. Josiah's not evil, not sure where you got that idea:) My dig was a chalcolithic cemetery site in Cyprus. I found many things including, shell beads, a picrolite pendant, flint, pottery and lots of human bone. I had fun, so thanks to everyone who asked.

Cheers. Please review:)


	8. Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>             Harry felt a bit dazed when McGonnagal took the hat off his head. He barely noticed her encouraging nod towards Slytherin, or the strange noise that was the sound of only one table cheering. His eyes went to his father, but Snape was looking out across the hall, his eyes far away. It was only after Dumbledore nudged him with his elbow that Snape even started clapping.

            Harry felt a bit dazed when McGonnagal took the hat off his head. He barely noticed her encouraging nod towards Slytherin, or the strange noise that was the sound of only one table cheering. His eyes went to his father, but Snape was looking out across the hall, his eyes far away. It was only after Dumbledore nudged him with his elbow that Snape even started clapping.

            He made his way to the Slytherin table. After reading _Hogwarts: A History_ (or at least the first few chapters), he had expected the Sorting Hat to want to put him in Slytherin. He was a parselmouth after all, and if they were rare one thousand years ago, than who knew how long it had been since the hat had actually sorted another parselmouth.

            The truth was he wasn't sure what to think of his sorting. He hadn't really preferred one house over the others, and even his request to go into Gryffindor hadn't been because he thought he wanted, or belonged to be there. The Sorting Hat itself had told him he could go into any house…

            "My name's Draco Malfoy," said a voice, breaking through his thoughts. Harry absentmindedly shook the pale-haired boy's hand. The name Malfoy sounded familiar, and wasn't this the same boy that Josiah had pointed out earlier? "These are Vincent and Gregory." Draco gestured at two large, and dull looking boys sitting across from him. Since Harry hadn't introduced himself, Draco took it upon himself to do it for him.

            "And you're Harry Potter. We all know you. I don't know what anyone's told you, but Slytherin is the best house. We don't have any riffraff like mud-muggle-borns or even half-breeds here." Draco's tone struck Harry as familiar. It took him a moment to realize where he had heard it before. It was the same tone his uncle used every time he mentioned how good 'normal' people were compared to freaks like Harry.

            "My mother was a muggle-born," Harry pointed out, annoyed at the boy's unthinking words.

            "Well, yes," faltered Draco. "But you're Harry Potter." He seemed to think that that explained everything. Harry shook his head at Draco's incomprehension and turned to look at the High Table again. Dumbledore was just getting up to say his opening speech. It was the utter nonsense that Harry had come to expect of the Headmaster, and he was grinning when the feast appeared.

            "Why were you late for the feast, Harry?" asked Draco curiously. Harry noticed that everyone within hearing was listening for his answer.

            "I," he said, his mind racing to think of a plausible answer. "I was locked in one of the classrooms by Peeves." He looked down as if he was embarrassed. "I guess Dumbledore figured out what happened and came to let me out. I wish I knew how he found me." Harry clamped his mouth shut, aware that he was starting to babble. Would they believe him? Draco seemed to at least.

            "Who's Peeves?" he asked.

            "Our resident poltergeist. He will be reprimanded," said a sombre voice. Harry was startled to see that it came from the Bloody Baron who was sitting on the other side of Draco.  

            Harry occupied himself with eating, stealing glances at the High Table when he could. His father was surveying the Slytherin table, but his eyes rested on Harry no longer than they did on any other student. Harry took the hint and looked at the rest of the staff table. There was a teacher next to Snape that he hadn't seen before. A pale-faced man in a purple turban that seemed too large for his head to support. That must be Professor Quirrell. He hadn't arrived until late last night, so Harry hadn't had a chance to meet him.

            Harry idly watched him take a sip of his pumpkin juice. His hand was trembling so badly he spilled half of it onto his robes. Quirrell turned to speak to Professor Sinistra on his left and Harry felt a jolt of pain in his forehead. His hand went automatically to his scar. For a moment, it had felt just like it had when he was in Gringotts. What had just happened? He spent the rest of the feast watching Quirrell and ignoring Draco's attempts to draw him into conversation. Nothing happened though, and he was surprised to see his father and Quirrell talking with each other just before Dumbledore stood up to speak again.

            He warned them against going into the Forbidden Forest and about the third-floor corridor on the right hand side. Harry remembered Snape telling him not to go into either of those places, though going into the forest with Hagrid was okay so long as he told someone. Harry was curious what was on the third-floor. He suspected that it had something to do with what Hagrid had fetched for Dumbledore since he hadn't been told about the restriction until after his birthday trip to Diagon Alley and the incident at Gringotts. A cautious check by Josiah had revealed that the room was ghost proofed so Harry had decided to leave it alone for now.

Dumbledore sent them to bed after they sang the school song. The noise was tremendous, but Harry thought it was much improved on Dudley's boring Smelting's song which he had heard sung thousands of times in Dudley's off-key voice, accompanied by Aunt Petunia's melodramatic sobbing about how beautiful it was.

            The first-year Slytherin's were told to follow their prefect down to the Slytherin Common Room, but it occurred to Harry that all his stuff was still in the Green Room. He followed the group for a little while since they were heading in the proper direction, but just as he was going to break away Draco put a hand on his shoulder.

            "Stick with me, Harry," he whispered over the prefect who was talking about house pride and the breaking of rules. "My father's told me all about this place. I'll show you around." Harry jerked his shoulder out of Draco's grip.

            "Thank you, but I think I can find my own way," he said curtly, before ducking down a side corridor. He waited for the yell that would mean Draco had tattled on him, but it didn't come. Relieved, Harry set off towards the Green Room. Josiah's head popped out of his watch sending the familiar icy chill through Harry's body.

            "Welcome to Slytherin," said the ghost. He seemed to be in a good mood.

            "Are all Slytherin's so concerned about bloodlines and all that junk?" he demanded of Josiah. The ghost's smile faded.

            "Most of them are," he admitted. "My family certainly was, though the pure-bloods in the other houses are almost as bad." It took a moment for Josiah's comment to sink in.

            "You were in Slytherin?" Harry was surprised, though more with himself than with Josiah. He had known the ghost for over a month, yet it had never occurred to him to ask what house Josiah had been in.

            "You can tell me something about Slytherin than," he said. Josiah got the distant look he always got when Harry asked something he didn't want to answer.

            "Maybe. They're not the happiest of my memories." Josiah placed a ghostly hand over the silver patch of blood that obscured his school badge. Somehow, it felt like the corridor had gotten colder.

            "Josiah. How did you die?" whispered Harry. Josiah got an alarmed look on his face and dove into the watch. A few seconds later, the Bloody Baron floated by and nodded a greeting to Harry. Harry hurried on towards the Green Room. He meant to ask Josiah the question again as soon as he got the chance, but somehow the time never seemed quite right.

             

*****

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Your support has been fantastic:)

Please review. Opinions are always welcome.


	9. Green and Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>             The door to his room was ajar, the light from inside spilling out into the corridor. Cautiously, Harry pushed the door all the way open to reveal his father standing in the middle of the room. Snape spun to face the door, his hand already in his pocket for his wand. His eyes narrowed when he recognized Harry.

            The door to his room was ajar, the light from inside spilling out into the corridor. Cautiously, Harry pushed the door all the way open to reveal his father standing in the middle of the room. Snape spun to face the door, his hand already in his pocket for his wand. His eyes narrowed when he recognized Harry.

            "Why aren't you in your room?" he demanded. Some part of Harry had been hoping for a smile, or congratulations. Something to show that his father was happy that he was in Slytherin.

            "I was just getting my things," said Harry, trying to match his father's tone.

            "The house elves have already moved everything. Five points from Slytherin for being out of bounds." Harry gaped at him. How was he supposed to have known that the house elves would have his things? "Close the door!" Snape commanded. Harry slammed it shut behind him.

He had been good for the past month, ever since Snape had come for him. He hadn't argued. He did everything Snape asked of him, and it would have been worth it if his father had shown that he cared more about him than he did about his potions, or the reputation of Slytherin house. Yes, there had been the photo, but that one thing didn't outweigh the days of being ignored, the verbal abuse and the horrible potions tasks that Snape had taken to assigning him as some sort of punishment.

            "Aren't you happy I'm in Slytherin, Father?" he asked bitterly.

            "Did you ask to be put in Slytherin?"

            "No," he answered. Snape stared at him in shock, and Harry had this inexplicable urge to hurt him. "I asked to be put in Gryffindor if you must know." Snape couldn't have been hurt more if he had cursed him. Harry's anger quickly faded to be replaced with a growing guilt.

            "I'm sorry," he began. "I-"

            "Did you, or did you not ask to be put in Gryffindor?" demanded Snape.

            "I did." Harry couldn't meet his eyes.

            "Than don't apologize," spat out Snape. "A Slytherin never apologizes, even when they know they're wrong." Harry thought it was impossible to go through life without apologizing at some point. His father seemed to see the doubt on his face, and gave him a bitter smile. "That's what my father told me when I got into Slytherin. I never believed him either."

            "What was your father like?" asked Harry. It was strange to think he might have a whole group of relatives he never knew about.

            "He was a proud man." Snape grimaced at something only he could see.

"I doubt he ever apologized in his life." Harry didn't mean to, but he yawned. He was acutely aware of just how sleepy he suddenly was. Snape noticed. "What have I told you about getting enough sleep? Get to bed." Harry nodded. "You have detention with me tomorrow at eight for this little escapade. Bring your schedule so we can work out when I can give you your lessons."

            "You're going to keep teaching me?" asked Harry. Snape gave him a sardonic look.

            "You're going to need every one of those curses now that you're in Slytherin. Everything is about status. If you can't get it by blood, or fame than you take it by force." It all sounded very callous to Harry.

            "Everything can't be about blood and status," he protested.

            "No. It's not, but until you learn what it is about, that's as good a place to start as any. You'll figure it out. The hat wouldn't have put you there if you couldn't." The hat put me there because of you Harry wanted to protest. Everything sounded a lot more complicated than it should be. It was only a house after all.

            "What will I be doing in detention?" he asked, wanting to change the subject.

            "I'll think of something," said Snape distantly. A thought seemed to occur to him. "Young Malfoy's in your year isn't he?" Harry nodded.

            "He doesn't like muggle-borns," he said.

            "He wouldn't. Try to keep your distance from him if you can."

            "I will, but why?" he asked. Despite his annoying attitude towards anyone he didn't consider to be pureblooded enough, Draco didn't seem particularly dangerous.

            "Malfoy's have a tendency to lead others astray. Let's leave it at that." Harry waited for him to say something else, but Snape looked lost in thought again. He finally noticed that Harry was still there. "What are you still doing here?" he snapped. "Get out of here before I take off more points." Harry walked to the door, but hesitated before opening it.

            "Good night, Father," he said, than ducked quickly out the door.

*****

            He had to ask Josiah where the Slytherin Common Room entrance was and was a bit surprised to find it was a stone wall in the corridor he and his father always came down to go to the abandoned classroom they practiced in. He pushed at the wall, wondering if this was really the entrance.

            "Are you sure this is it?" he asked Josiah. The ghost popped his head out of the watch to glance at the wall, than ducked down again. He had been unusually cautious since their encounter with the Bloody Baron and now he spoke without even showing his face.

            "That's it, but it won't open without the password."

            "Password?" questioned Harry. "Where do I get the password?"

            "Usually from the prefect who leads the first-years down here," said Josiah casually, though Harry could tell he was amused. He always found the situations Harry got himself into, amusing. Harry sighed and slumped against the wall opposite the entrance. He had two options. He could wait here for someone to come use the entrance, which might or might not happen, especially since it was getting late. Or he could go find his father, suffer a tongue lashing and probably loose even more points. Neither option was very appealing. With a sigh, he straightened up. Maybe he should try alohomora on it before he went to find Snape.

            He froze when he looked back at the wall again. When standing in front of it, the wall looked like the thousands of stone-lined corridors that graced Hogwarts, but from his position with his back against the opposite wall, a picture began to emerge. The stones formed an overall shape, one he couldn't quite make out. He consciously relaxed and unfocused his eyes, willing the shape to become clearer. It seemed to jump out at him. The stones outlined a coiled serpent, its tongue out so that it looked like it was hissing at him. Harry was impressed by the illusion.

            "It looks real," he said, intending the comment for Josiah, but at his words, the head of the snake jerked up, then disappeared completely as the wall swung inward to reveal the entrance to the Common Room. Harry stared at the door in shock. He was sure that wasn't supposed to happen.

After a moment, he shook himself and entered the Common Room. It was filled with various couches and chairs, all clustered around a huge fireplace with the Slytherin crest embedded in the stone above it. The chairs, the carpet and all the tapestries were green, or at least green-themed. It felt like he had never left the Green Room. A couple of students were sitting around the fire, but they only glanced up in disinterest at the first-year before going back to their conversation. Harry wanted to ask Josiah about opening the door, but he needed privacy for that.

There were various doors leading out of the room, and after a few wrong tries, he found the one with 'First-years' chiselled over it. His dorm mates were all asleep in rooms that were predictably green-themed. He wondered if there was a way to get Snape to teach him some colour charms so that he could vary things a bit. Maybe if he told him he wanted to change everything to black?

The unoccupied bed had all his stuff gathered around it, though his broom was now missing. He was going to miss his days spent flying. He sat down on the bed, intent on taking a moment to organize his thoughts. He would talk to Josiah in the toilets, since he couldn't guarantee that everyone was asleep. But first he would just lie down and close his eyes. The duvet may have been green, but it was soft, and he didn't notice when he fell asleep.

*****

A/N: See? Snape and Harry had an almost civil conversation *rereads the conversation* Okay, so it wasn't very civil. I did try though. It's not my fault they don't get along…We will eventually find out when and how Josiah died, but it's going to take awhile for Harry to remember to ask the question. Harry will pick up a few more friends, but I'm not telling who…I can tell everyone that I hate being predictable in my writing though, so whatever you're expecting to happen, prepare to be surprised;)

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed. Please review:)


	10. A Shadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>             Harry awoke to a familiar sound. It was the sound of someone's fists hitting flesh, followed by a soft groan. He froze, the many times when he had been caught by Dudley's gang flashed through is mind. The thought of interfering made him queasy, but he reached for his glasses (discovered they were still on his face) and pushed the covers back anyway. No one was ever going to be beaten up if he could help it. He fumbled in the pocket of his robes for his wand, his eyes fixed on the scene before him.

            Harry awoke to a familiar sound. It was the sound of someone's fists hitting flesh, followed by a soft groan. He froze, the many times when he had been caught by Dudley's gang flashed through is mind. The thought of interfering made him queasy, but he reached for his glasses (discovered they were still on his face) and pushed the covers back anyway. No one was ever going to be beaten up if he could help it. He fumbled in the pocket of his robes for his wand, his eyes fixed on the scene before him.

            Draco was lounging on his bed, his eyes fixed on the other end of the room where Crabbe and Goyle were fighting against an olive-skinned boy with dark brown hair. Or to be more accurate, Crabbe was holding the boy in place while Goyle delivered his punches to different body parts. The boy had his eyes closed tightly and his jaw clenched. Harry winced in sympathy as Goyle's fist crashed into the boy's shoulder.

            Harry mentally ran through the rather long list of spells and curses at his disposal before stepping into the middle of the room. His wand was being held the way his father had drilled into him, and it was pointing straight at Goyle's back.

            "Let him go," he demanded, trying to put as much force behind the command as his father always did. It didn't completely work. Goyle and Crabbe froze and looked ready to obey him, but then Draco spoke up.

            "No!" he called, jumping up from the bed and coming to stand next to Harry. "His father and my father dislike each other," he explained casually. Harry stared at him incredulously.

            "And that's a reason to dislike him?" he asked, though he already knew the answer. Draco nodded.

            "Of course. This will teach him not to get uppity." Draco sounded like he was parroting someone. Harry shook his head.

            "Call them off, Draco, or I'll do it for you," he commanded. Draco began to look angry, any of his goodwill from the night before evaporating in the face of Harry's challenge to his authority.

            "I covered for you last night, Harry," he warned. Harry could think of no way of explaining that Draco's good deed did not mean that he was going to sit by and watch him bully someone. He looked toward Goyle and made sure his aim was correct. Snape always said aim was important.

            "_Acerverbera_." In order to learn the curses that were performed on another person, Harry had had to feel each curse at least once. He knew Goyle would feel like he was being slapped all over his body for as long as he maintained the curse, which was why he took it off after a few seconds. Goyle stumbled backward in surprise, though he didn't look hurt. Harry turned the wand on Crabbe, but the dull-faced boy showed some sense and let go of his victim. Harry kept his wand in his hand, as he crossed the room and helped the other boy to his feet.

            "Where did you learn that?" asked Draco. He sounded both curious and angry. Harry shrugged, though his mind was racing for an explanation. His father had never discussed this with him.

            "I've been here at Hogwarts for a few weeks now. There was nothing to do but learn," he said as casually as possible. He turned his attention to the boy. "Are you alright?" The boy's dark brown eyes widened a little at being addressed.

            "I'm fine," he mumbled. He turned back to his bed and began to pull on his outer robe. Harry glanced at his watch, than ran to grab his things. They were going to miss breakfast if they didn't hurry. When he left the room a few minutes later, the olive-skinned boy was right behind him. He was very quiet.

            "What's your name?" Harry finally asked him.

            "Blaise Zabini," responded the boy in a soft voice. After a moment, he spoke again. "Thank you." Harry was embarrassed.

            "It was no trouble," he said. Blaise just nodded. When Harry took his seat at the Slytherin table, Blaise sat right beside him, though he didn't say another word all through breakfast. Harry ignored Draco and his flunkies when they came to the table and was ignored in turn. He glanced up at the High Table and saw his father scowling into his plate. McGonnagal was attempting to engage him in conversation, but Harry could have told her it was a wasted effort to get a civil word out of his father before breakfast.

            The arrival of the post startled him. He had never seen so many owls in the air at once. He was easily able to pick out Godewina's white body from the crowd. He realized with sense of guilt that he hadn't even thought of her since the Sorting. She dropped a piece of parchment in front of him, than perched near his plate. He fed her a bit of toast.

            "Did you spend the night in the owlry?" he asked. She hooted in affirmation, rubbing her head affectionately against his hand before flying off. He was glad she wasn't angry with him for forgetting her. He nearly jumped when someone thrust a parchment under his nose. He looked up in time to see his father striding angrily along the table, distributing parchment as he went.

            Bemused, Harry looked to see that the parchment held his time table, which was colour coded to show which houses would be together for classes. Across from him, Draco groaned.

            "We have double Potions with Gryffindor!" he complained to Crabbe and Goyle, who nodded their heads in agreement. Harry was beginning to doubt their ability to think, much less read their own schedules. He put the schedule aside however, to read the note that Godewina had brought him.

_Harry,_

_            Why don't you come on down and have a cup of tea with me after your classes today? Fang's been missing you. _

_                                                            Hagrid_

            Harry was overjoyed at the simple note. He had been expecting Hagrid not to like him now that he was in Slytherin. Going to see him would bring him dangerously close to his expected detention time with Snape, but he wouldn't have missed seeing Hagrid for the world.

            His first classes went by in a blur. History of Magic couldn't have been more boring, but luckily, Binns didn't expect anyone to pay attention. He was ahead of everyone in Charms thanks to his practicing, and even the charms he didn't know seemed simplistic compared to the ones his father had been teaching him. Herbology was a lot like the gardening the Dursleys had always made him do.

            It would have been a perfect first day if not for two things. Everyone was staring at him. They would whisper his name as he passed, and the creepy feeling that people were watching him began to make him very jumpy. Somehow his trip to Diagon Alley hadn't really conveyed just how famous he really was in the wizarding world, and he was sure that getting into Slytherin hadn't helped matters.

His second problem was Blaise Zabini. The boy wouldn't leave him alone, following along behind him like his second shadow. He sat next to him in class and worked with Harry whenever they were told to pair up. Harry had no chance to talk to Josiah. It wouldn't have been so bad if Blaise ever talked to anyone, but he was the quietest boy Harry had ever met. By the end of the day, Harry was sure he hadn't heard more than ten words out of Blaise's mouth.

When classes were over, Harry headed for the main doors, but paused when he realised that Blaise was still with him.

"I'm going to see Hagrid, Blaise," he said. The other boy shrugged.

"Okay." Harry couldn't stand it any longer.

"Look. Why are you following me? You don't owe me anything for this morning," he said. Blaise gave him a strange look.

"Malfoy has Crabbe and Goyle. You have me," he said simply.

"I don't need a bodyguard or a lackey," protested Harry, appalled by the idea. It made him sound like Dudley and his gang. Blaise shook his head.

"You will once Malfoy gets over his awe at your presence. I'm just making my allegiance clear." Harry stared at the boy in frustration. Somehow he suspected that being in Gryffindor would have been much less complicated. Then he had an idea.

"Look, you can stay with me, but only as my friend," he said. Blaise looked shocked. "I don't want you doing things just because I say so, and if I ask you to do something you don't want to, I expect you to say no. You don't have to follow me around, and you certainly don't have to be so quiet."

"I'm always quiet," said Blaise.

"Oh," said Harry lamely. "Well, are we friends?" He held out his hand. Blaise stared at it for a very long time before taking it. He gave Harry a small smile, the first Harry had seen on him.

"Friends."

*****

L. Acer "stinging" + verbera "blows"

Next chapter: Hagrid and Snape…

Thank you so much to all my reviewers. You guys really inspire and encourage me:) Harry opened the wall by speaking parseltongue, though he doesn't realize it yet. Thanks to Ozma for suggesting the visit to Hagrid, even if it didn't make it into this chapter;)

Please review:)


	11. Detention?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the wait everyone. I've been writing essays like mad, and had no time to write until term ended, and then decided to ban me from uploading for a week, so everything was written, but I could no longer post.

A/N: Sorry for the wait everyone. I've been writing essays like mad, and had no time to write until term ended, and then decided to ban me from uploading for a week, so everything was written, but I could no longer post.

*****

            Harry knocked nervously on the door to Hagrid's cottage. Blaise was standing silently behind him, and they both listened to the rather enthusiastic scrambling noises inside that Harry identified as Fang fighting to get out. Hagrid bellowed something at the dog before opening the door a crack. They slipped inside. Hagrid slammed the door shut behind them and Fang leapt up on Harry slobbering all over his face before moving to inspect Blaise. Blaise offered his hand to Fang who obliged by covering it in drool.

            "Enough, Fang!" commanded Hagrid. The boarhound subsided and went to sit on top of a pile of blankets in the corner. Harry decided to introduce his friend.

            "This is Blaise Zabini, Hagrid." Blaise gave Hagrid a polite nod. Hagrid eyed them both in silence for a moment, and Harry had the distinct feeling that he was staring at their Slytherin badges. Harry cleared his throat.

            "Er," he began, but then Hagrid seemed to come back to himself.

            "Sorry. Let me make you a cup'a." He bustled about the cottage fetching cups from random shelves, and retrieved the sugar bowl from behind one of the hams that was swinging from the ceiling. They were each given a cup, and both Harry and Blaise sipped politely at the scalding hot brew. Hagrid clunked a huge plate of what he would call cake, and the rest of the world would call concrete, onto the table. Harry shook his head frantically at Blaise when his friend actually went to take one. Hagrid sat down, and the staring began anew.

            "Er, Hagrid," began Harry, desperately wishing he didn't have to say anything at all. "I know you didn't expect for this to happen, but I didn't know either and…"

            "Must say yeh gettin' into Slytherin surprised me," the giant admitted, finally breaking off his staring at their badges. "Both yer parents were in Gryffindor an' I thought yeh might be too."

            "You were in Gryffindor," said Blaise before taking a sip of his tea. Hagrid nodded, and Harry wondered how Blaise had been able to tell.

            "I was, an' that rudd-." Hagrid's face was turning red, and he was forced to pause and take a deep breath. "There was a Slytherin who caused me a lot of trouble. Not that I'm sayin' yeh will!"

            "We won't, Hagrid," said Harry. Blaise nodded in agreement.

            "I know yeh won'. Yeh're still yer father's son, whatever house yeh may be in." Harry wondered if that statement would still be considered true if Hagrid knew who his real father was, but he appreciated the comment all the same. "How was yer first day?" Harry welcomed the change of subject, and launched into a report of his day letting his tea grow cold as he talked.

*****

            He was only a few minutes late by the time he ran to his father's office. He had chatted with Hagrid for a lot longer than he had realized. Afterwards, Blaise had said he wanted to go to the Library to study, though Harry suspected he was just going there to avoid confronting Draco without Harry around. He burst through the office door, and stood there breathing heavily from his run through the castle.

            "I'm here," he said between breathes.

            "I can see that," said Snape, looking askance at his dishevelled appearance. "Lucky for you, Flint can't tell time any better than he can write a proper essay. Follow me." He swept out of the room with Harry in his wake. Who was Flint and why was Snape taking Harry to see him instead of the detention he had been assigned?

            He followed his father outside the castle and out onto the Quidditch field. There was a much older boy sitting on a large box to one side of the field. He was holding a broom in his hands, staring at it and practically drooling. Harry felt his stomach lurch as he recognized his own broom. He glanced up at his father. Had he given Harry's broom away?

            "Flint," said Snape as they came closer. The older boy continued to survey the broom, running his large hands over its twigs. "Flint!" The boy jumped up holding the broom casually behind his back as if he hadn't been drooling over it a few seconds before.

            "Professor Snape," said Flint. He looked more like the type who would hurt you rather than talk to you, but his tone to Snape was surprisingly respectful. "You said you had a new Seeker for me." Flint was looking past Harry's head, as if there might be someone standing behind him. Snape gave Flint an exasperated look and pushed Harry forward.

            "Here he is, Flint." Flint gaped at him, his eyes travelling automatically to the scar that was just visible through Harry's fringe.

            "Harry Potter!"

            "Yes," said Snape sardonically. "And that's his broom you're holding behind your back, which he might need if he's going to try out." Flint hastily handed the broom to Harry, glancing at Snape in embarrassment before turning his full attention on Harry. The change was remarkable. Flint went from flustered, to Captain of the Quidditch team in seconds.

            "All right, Potter. Mount your broom. I'm releasing the Snitch. Catch it in five minutes and you're on the team." Harry glanced at his father, who just stared back with a bored expression and tilted his head towards the pitch. He was amazed that his father felt he was good enough to play Seeker, but didn't have time to dwell on it since Flint was releasing the Snitch.

            Harry kicked off into the air, his problems of the day forgotten in the joy of flying, his eyes already scanning for the tiny Snitch. He spotted it quickly and rejoiced at his good fortune. Nudging his broom sideways, he went into a dive to catch the Snitch unaware from where it hovered a few feet above the ground. He was nearly upon it when something slammed into his shoulder, sending a jolt of pain echoing down his arm.

            A wild glance about revealed that there was a Bludger in the air, and he took a moment to glare down at Flint for not telling him about it. Flint cupped his hands about his mouth and yelled.

            "Catch the Snitch, Potter! The other teams won't give you warnings either!" Harry gave a curt nod in response, dove sideways to avoid the returning Bludger and resumed his search for the Snitch while keeping his eye out for the Bludger. Nearly a minute later, he spotted it again, hovering near his father's head. Harry grinned and dove towards his father, remembering the first time he had flown the broom. Snape didn't move, not even when Harry snatched the Snitch out of the air and pulled up his broom just in time to avoid barrelling into his father.

            "I did it!" Harry yelled triumphantly, holding up the Snitch for Flint to see. His happy smile was returned by a faint one on his father's face, though the sad look was back in his eyes. Flint approached from behind after taking the time to recapture the Bludger.

            "He's a natural, Professor," said Flint excitedly. "Gryffindor won't stand a chance." He glanced down at the broom in Harry's hand and there was a greedy look in his eyes when he looked up again. "He will be allowed to keep the Nimbus Two Thousand, Sir, despite the restrictions? None of the other teams have one." Snape nodded.

            "I've spoken to the Headmaster. He's decided to make an exception, like he always does." Snape's tone was bitter, despite the fact that the Headmaster's decision had worked in his favour. Flint was overjoyed and spent the next few minutes going over when Harry would have to be at practice and what was expected of him. Snape waited impatiently for him to finish before walking him back to the castle. The Nimbus Two Thousand was left in Flint's care since they didn't want anyone to see what Harry was playing on until the day of their first match in a few weeks.

            "Thank you," said Harry as they walked back. Snape glanced at him.

            "I had to find some way to let you keep that broom, and to continue our lessons. You're excused from Flying lessons as of today. Instead, you will report to the classroom we've been working in to continue our lessons."

            "All right." Harry wondered if he should tell his father about what had happened with Blaise today, but before he could mention it, they reached the Main Doors, and Snape opened them. The two Hufflepuffs who had been about to open the doors, jumped in surprise, their eyes widening in fright when they saw Snape. His father glared coldly at them.

            "That will be all, Mr. Potter. I trust you've learnt something from this experience. Get back to your common room," he snarled, though it was unsure just who he was talking to. The two Hufflepuffs ran away, and Harry was about to ask if he had been talking to them, or to Harry, but then he noticed the woman in green robes who was standing near one of the doorways. Professor McGonagall. Snape glowered at her for a moment before sweeping away, his black robes spreading out behind him. McGonagall sent a stern look after him, but made no move to follow. She turned to look at him instead, and the stern look disappeared.

            "It is getting late, Harry. You should probably get to your common room," she said kindly. Harry stared at her in confusion. As Head of Gryffindor, wasn't she supposed to hate Slytherins? She gave him a small smile, and nodded in the direction of the door. Harry started towards it. "If you ever want to talk, Mr. Potter, just let me know." She sounded worried. Harry nodded in agreement before he could think. He had enjoyed his conversations and flying time with McGonagall. It would be nice to continue them, but he wasn't sure if his father would approve now that he was in Slytherin. Or if McGonagall would approve once she found out he was Seeker for Slytherin.

            "Thank you, Professor," he said, though he still wasn't sure if it was a good idea.  He wandered back to the Slytherin common room, absentmindedly rubbing his sore shoulder. This had to have been the strangest detention he had ever received.

*****

A/N: There is no canonical evidence that Blaise is male or female in the books. I decided that Blaise would be male going on the evidence from one of Rowling's interviews that there are two, not yet mentioned, Slytherin girls. If Blaise is a boy, this means there are four boys and four girls in Slytherin which evens out. Or course, it's always possible that there's five Slytherin girls, but until Rowling indicates Blaise's gender in the books, I'm keeping Blaise a boy. For more information about this go visit the HP Lexicon.

Thanks for reading everyone. Please review:)


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